


Naughty Ransom Holiday Tales

by Jtargaryen18 (snowqueen79), snowqueen79



Series: Ransom Tales [1]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Chloroform, Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Loss of Virginity, Movie Spoilers, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/pseuds/Jtargaryen18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/pseuds/snowqueen79
Summary: You’re Marta’s younger sister and you’ve followed in her footsteps most of your life. You followed her into nursing and to the front door of Thrombey ancestral home. There you encountered Ransom Drysdale, grandson of Harlan Thrombey and trust-fund playboy extraordinaire. Over three holidays, Ransom develops an unhealthy interest in you but you reject his advances.When he becomes the top suspect in the death of his own grandfather and the family housekeeper, he doesn’t stick around to confess. He decides to get the hell out of dodge.But he doesn’t go alone. He still has one card to play against Marta. She may have inherited his family’s fortune - for now - but he knows she loves you more than anything. What would she give to get you back when he takes you?As if he intends to give you back when he finally has you where he wants you. Ransom wants it all, the fortune and you, and he means to make that happen.
Relationships: Ransom Drysdale & Reader, Ransom Drysdale & You, Ransom Drysdale/Original Female Character(s), Ransom Drysdale/Reader
Series: Ransom Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814857
Comments: 327
Kudos: 779





	1. Chapter 1

“Who ordered the hooker?”

If there was a moment in your life when you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you, that cold, rainy Valentine’s Day was it. That was first time you met him.

Standing on the doorstep of the ancestral Thrombey mansion, you stared up at the man who’d answered the door. He was tall with shoulders as wide as church doors, stretching the baby blue sweater he wore to its limits. His light brown hair was swept back from a gorgeous face that was a perfect mix of angles and curves. His blue eyes were the same innocent shade of blue as his sweater.

But church would be the last place you’d find the man before you.

His blue eyes were cold, his gaze leering as it moved over the short red dress you wore with fishnet stockings and kitten heels. Self-consciously, you pulled your coat closed around you, hiding the front of the costume you’d worn at the floral shop where you were seasonal help. It didn’t do much to hide your legs since it only came to mid-thigh.

“Ransom,” Marta pushed into his space, making him take a step back. “This is my sister.”

Marta motioned you in past him, but you felt his gaze on you as he closed the door behind you.

“And your sister is a _nurse_?” You didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice as he followed you and Marta into the parlor. “So she’s just a hooker part time?”

Marta stopped when the three of you reached the foot of the stairs.

“She’s—”

“I’m sorry,” you told him politely, turning around and forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I work part time at a floral shop. I didn’t have time to change.”

“Feel free _not_ to,” he finally spoke directly to you. Then to your sister he said, “at least she speaks English.”

Marta introduced you. “This is Ransom Drysdale, Harlan’s grandson.”

Ransom didn’t extend a hand or even spare a “nice to meet you.” It became awkward really fast.

Marta’s expression was pained but she quietly said, “come on” and led you up the staircase which made a chorus of creaking sounds as the two of you climbed up.

Like an idiot you glanced back. He wasn’t even hiding the fact that he was ogling you.

When you reached the top of the stairs, Marta showed you to a small bathroom so you could change clothes. She brushed her fingers over the hand clutching the strap of your backpack. Your knuckles were white.

“I’m sorry about that,” she muttered. “He’s an ass… Get changed and I’ll introduce you to Harlan.”

Changing into your street clothes made you felt much better. Not quite ready to meet the famous murder-mystery author Harlan Thrombey, but as ready as you were going to get.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Harlan’s smile was genuine. His blue eyes were the same shade as his grandson’s only they held a warmth that Ransom’s lacked. “I’m afraid I had a bad night last night and kept your sister up all hours taking care of me. I want her to get a few hours of sleep, but she insists someone still needs to be here to watch over _me_.”

You smiled, the older gentleman immediately putting you at ease. Now you understood why she loved her job.

“I’m glad to help, Mr. Thrombey,” you said with a smile.

“Harlan, please,” he bid you. “Make yourself at home. I’ve already had supper so I’m just going to work on edits for my latest manuscript.”

Marta was already stretched out on the study sofa sound asleep, so you settled into the armchair, pulling out a needlepoint kit you’d bought a long time ago but never seemed to have time to work on or even start. The final product was a simple, colorful ocean scene. You didn’t know what you’d do with it once it was finished and you hoped your remembered how to get started, but it would pass the time.

Harlan settled at his desk and got to work. All was peaceful.

You’d finished a good portion of the lower left corner of the needlepoint when eleven o’clock rolled around. As she’d asked, you woke Marta up so she could give Harlan his meds. You’d followed your sister into nursing and were finishing your RN program later in the spring.

As she stretched and sat up, Marta grinned at you. “Thank you for doing this. It will only take me a minute to finish here so you can go home. Be careful, okay?”

Tucking everything back into your pack, you rose to say goodbye to Harlan.

“My dear, it was nice to meet you,” he said warmly. “I trust I’ll see you again at some point.”

You nodded, smiled. “It was an honor to meet you. Thank you. I’ll see you soon.”

It was simple enough to show yourself out. You walked down the stairs but of course, the stairs creaked along with each step you made, dashing your hopes of flying under the radar. You’d just reached the bottom when you saw Ransom walking your way, wearing a long coat and a smirk.

_Please don’t let him be leaving too._

You weren’t that lucky.

Ransom reached the doorknob before you did, startling you as you stopped abruptly. His grin widened as he pulled the door open and motioned for you to go ahead of him.

You tried walking fast but at his height, keeping up with you wasn’t hard.

“What happened to the dress?”

You didn’t stop. With your tiny car in sight, you were making a beeline for it.

Ransom beat you to it, leaning himself on your drive side door and crossing his arms across his chest.

It took you a minute to realize that you were staring at him with your mouth open.

“It’s just… what I’m required to wear for my other job,” you said, wishing for the millionth time you were more assertive. Wishing you could say something clever or funny and shoo him away from your car.

“Shame,” he said, his expression hard to read in the shadows. “I never got to find out what was under there.”

Oh. _Oh._

You needed to get out of here quickly. You took a step back, meaning to go back to Marta and wait to leave with her.

Ransom blew out a sigh as he stepped away from your door, pulling it open.

You were still about to full-on run back for the mansion. Ransom _was_ one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen in real life. You couldn’t deny you were attracted to him.

But you felt anything but safe right now.

“Come on,” he motioned you forward impatiently.

Timidly, you made your way to your car and climbed in. He shut the door for you a little harder than he had to. Starting up the engine, you were anxious to get away from here. Away from _him_.

You jumped when he tapped sharply on the window, using a ring on his little finger. Quickly, you hit the button to slide the window down.

“You really shouldn’t leave your car unlocked, pumpkin,” the man’s grin could only be described as wicked as he leaned down to put himself on eye level with you. “You’ve got to be smarter than that.”

You shuddered. His words felt like a warning.

With that, he straightened and walked away. You didn’t see where he was headed. You didn’t care.

You just needed to get home.

***

The next time you saw Ransom was Easter.

Harlan’s son Walt was hosting some macabre Easter egg hunt for their publishing company, Blood Like Wine. Various people would be wandering about the grounds including Harlan himself. Apparently,

Walt and Linda thought it would be a good idea to have additional medical staff on hand.

When Marta asked you, you should have said no. You _wanted_ to say no. You were preparing for your clinicals after all and she knew that.

You also didn’t ever want to see Ransom Drysdale again.

And yet on a certain level, you very much _did_.

_What was wrong with you?_

But there was no one else Marta knew that she trusted. With Harlan’s mother, Greatnana Wanetta, to consider too, having another nurse did sound like a good idea.

Wanting to help your sister, you ultimately agreed to go help.

You weren’t proud of the fact that it took you a solid hour to pick out what you were going to wear, how you were going to style your hair. That you were anxious about the possibility of Ransom being there and noticing you was a massive understatement.

As you were packing your medical bag, you shook your head at yourself.

The outing was for the publishing company. Chances were strong that Ransom wasn’t going to be there for that. You were getting all upset for nothing.

“Are you ready?” Marta stopped in the doorway of your room.

You nodded, smiling at the fact that you’d both elected to wear dresses for the occasion. Following Marta to her car, you climbed in and off the two of you went.

The yard around the gothic mansion that was Harlan’s home was littered with people in suits and dresses that you and Marta couldn’t afford. They wandered around with champagne flutes in hand, some already drunk and stumbling. You looked to your sister for guidance.

“Just stay close to Harlan and his mother,” she directed you. Leaning in closer, she whispered, “Try to avoid Ransom if you can.”

_He was there?_

You should have been nodding confidently at her advice, not glancing around hopefully with your heart racing in your chest.

Marta was staring at you mouthing “you okay?”

You had to get a grip on yourself. You were here to work.

After a couple of hours, the staggering throng was thinning, and you could tell Harlan was getting tired and you didn’t even know him well. He’d been engaged in one tedious conversation after another, but he handled each of them with a sharp wit and class that the rest of his family didn’t seem to possess.

His son Walt was a pompous ass who acted as if he knew way more about the publishing industry than his successful father. Walt’s wife looked you with disdain, only barely greeting Marta. Their son Jacob wouldn’t even look up from his phone when he pretty much ordered you to go in and get him a bottle of ginger ale.

You didn’t even know how to get to the kitchen in that huge old house.

You scrambled into the mansion, determined to get the drink and get back out as fast as possible. So far there’d been no sign of Ransom, which comforted and disappointed you at the same time, and you thought you’d be okay.

You found the kitchen easily enough. That was good. When you reached it, the person you should probably avoid was sitting at the dining room table just outside it reading a magazine as he drank a beer, you panicked.

_Nope._

You’d just tell Marta you got lost, apologize profusely, and get _her_ to do it.

You’d just turned to head back the way you came when his voice stopped you.

“Where you going, pumpkin?” Ransom called.

He knew it was you.

_Why did he call you that again?_

_Just keep walking._ And you did. You almost made it back to the stairs when you were grabbed about the waist and spun around. Ransom had you pushed up against a wall in what looked like a library, looming over you with a grin that was gorgeous and malevolent all at once.

“I asked you a question,” Ransom said, not moving his hands from your shoulders. “Where are you going?”

You hated that you were trembling in his grasp, that he towered over you, forcing you to look up at him.

“Jacob asked me to get him a ginger ale,” you explained, “but I didn’t want to disturb you so—”

“Liar,” his voice was a purr. “You’re afraid of me.”

You thought that was fairly obvious, but you didn’t dare say that.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Ransom moved closer, the light off-white sweater he wore in your face now. “It’s a nice change of pace. Normally, I’ve got women bugging the shit out of me. No one’s given me a challenge in a while.”

You tried to push off from the wall, to get back to Marta. It was no effort for him to hold you there.

“Please,” you tried, “I’m working. I really need to get back.”

Ransom’s grin widened. “There’s no big rush. That little alt-right shit can wait a little longer for his ginger ale, can’t he?”

“Please?” you tried again.

Ransom hummed. “That goes right to a man’s head.”

_Oh, God. What did?_

“Love the sound of a woman begging for me,” Ransom went on idly.

Your heart was racing in your chest and you were struggling to breathe. The hand on your right shoulder slid down, pulling the strap of your sundress with it.

“Say it again,” his voice was pitched low.

Despite yourself, you shivered in his grip.

He dipped his head, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your bare shoulder, his tongue sliding over your skin. The scent of his cologne was stronger, the heat of his body palpable.

“Say it,” he whispered against your skin.

“Please,” you said automatically, a little breathless because of the way his lips were scorching a path over your shoulder, across to your neck.

Your hands lifted weakly, meaning to plant them on his chest and push him away. There was a solid wall of muscle beneath your palms. And you tried to shove him back but then his mouth had made it just below your ear.

When his mouth closed over yours, you _did_ try to push him away. Without breaking the kiss, Ransom grabbed your wrists and pressed them to the wall on either side of your head _hard_. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, trying to gain entry but you fought him.

You yelped when he bit your lower lip. And when you gasped, he had the opening he needed to get a good taste of you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned you.

You were both breathless when he finally lifted his head. His gaze moved over your face, your body.

“You’re an innocent little pumpkin, aren’t you?” he asked, his grip on your wrists tightening like he was struggling with himself.

“You still a virgin?” his voice was low, dark.

You shook your head immediately, hoping he wouldn’t detect the lie. What? Did it _excite_ him that you might be a virgin?

You had to get back to Marta.

“Mr. Drysdale, pl—”

“No,” his expression hardened. “Say my name.”

You swallowed hard under that darkened gaze. He could carry you off anywhere and do whatever he liked by the time anyone thought something might be wrong. And it looked like he was contemplating just that.

“Ransom,” you said slowly, deciding to do as he asked. “Please, let me go back.”

Dropping your gaze, you couldn’t help noticing the bulge at the front of his slacks. The sight only pushed your anxiety level higher.

Blowing out an exhale, Ransom mostly released you. Keeping his strong fingers wrapped around one of your wrists, he pulled you on unsteady feet out of the library. You thought about screaming. Where was he dragging you? What did he intend to do?

When you reached the kitchen, he let you go. He pulled open a huge refrigerator, reaching in to pull out a bottled ginger ale. He was barely looking at you now.

“Take it before I change my mind,” he snapped, handing you the bottle.

You took the bottle with a shaking hand then turned and fled the kitchen. You hauled up the strap of your dress as you went, hoping you didn’t look worked over when you made it back to Marta and Harlan.

You didn’t feel like you could breathe until you were out the front door. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to relax.

You ran across Jacob on your way back, handing him the drink with a smile.

“Took you long enough,” he said with disinterest before returning to his phone.

You made your way back to Marta and Harlan, just as your sister was helping him up from the patio chair where he’d been holding court.

“There you are,” Marta said warmly. “Will you grab Harlan’s things for me so I can get him inside?”

“I’d be glad to,” you said.

But you were anything but. You couldn’t go back in there with Ransom. Today he’d scared you enough to rid of your ridiculous notion of being attracted to him.

Today’s encounter made you realize you couldn’t come to back to Harlan Thrombey’s house at all.

Ransom was nowhere to be seen when you followed Marta and Harlan up the stairs to his rooms. You didn’t see him before you left with Marta shortly after.

_It’s for the best._

You never noticed Ransom in the shadows of the Thrombey mansion, watching you walk out with your sister Marta and letting her drive you away from him.

_One day_ , Ransom thought. _One day_.

***

“My car won’t start,” Marta explained on the phone. “I need you to come and get me.”

_Fuck._

“Where are you?” you asked.

_Please don’t say at Harlan’s. Please be anywhere but there._

“Harlan’s,” Marta muttered. “Can you come get me soon?”

_Fuck my life._

You didn’t mean to blow out an exhale on the phone. But you really didn’t want to do this.

It was the fourth of July. Marta had gone over for Harlan’s family’s annual cookout like she had last year. Only last year, you’d listened to her talk about everything and you’d actually felt envious. It had sounded like so much fun even if she was “the help.”

This year? You didn’t want to be in the same zip code as that house.

“I can pay for a cab,” you offered. “Or an Uber.”

You could almost hear your sister think on the other end.

“Did something happen the last time you were here?” Marta asked now and that made you feel a little better because that meant your sister was alone wherever she was. “You’ve been sick or busy each time I’ve asked you.”

You wanted to tell her. You really did. And considering she’d told you herself that Ransom was an ass, Marta would probably believe you.

But Marta loved that job. She loved Harlan. Did you really want to take all of that away from her if you didn’t have to? Sure, the family were dicks to her often. But for Harlan, she made it work and most days she seemed content when she came home.

At the same time, you really needed to avoid Ransom. He’d pretty much molested you when you’d been there for Easter. You still got chills when you remembered him handing you that ginger ale and telling you to go before he “changed his mind.” He’d left no doubt as to what he wanted.

“I’m sorry,” you told her. And you _were_ sitting at home, watching Netlfix on your laptop. “I’ll come get you,” you told her quietly.

“Thank you,” Marta’s tone picked up. “I’ll make you waffles tomorrow morning.”

You did love your sister’s waffles.

“I want whipped cream,” you informed her.

“We’ll stop and get some on the way home.”

With that, you got off the phone and got dressed. It was still summer hot outside so you pulled on the shorts you wore earlier with a loose sweatshirt so you wouldn’t have to worry about a bra.

You didn’t plan on getting out of the car. You’d honk, Marta comes out and you drive off. That was all you had to do.

Slipping into your flip flops, you grabbed your keys and headed for your car.

It was funny how you’d only been to the Thrombey estate a couple of times, but you could get there like you’d visited dozens of times. You got there within the hour, but you’d decided against honking when you saw Harlan’s son and Ransom’s father having a heated argument on the front porch with Jacob oblivious to all of it on his phone.

You sat there for a moment with the car running, hoping Marta would come out. They kept looking towards your car in the dark, you guessed trying to figure out who you were.

You texted Marta quickly, telling her you were here. Dropping a big hint for her to come out now so you could get home.

When your car door opened, you felt relief.

Until you noticed who it was.

Ransom smirked at you from your passenger seat. “What did I say about locking your car? You remember?”

_Fuck._

Tensing behind the wheel of your car, you thought about shutting off the engine and running into the house to get Marta.

Ransom smelled like alcohol.

“Still afraid of me?” As if he could read your mind, a corner of the handsome bastard’s mouth curved up. “My family is right there on the porch. You’re safe… for now.”

You released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“For now,” you repeated quietly. “And you wonder why I’m afraid of you? When you say things like that?”

His grin widened, his eyes glittering at you in the dark of the cabin.

“You haven’t come around since Easter,” his tone held a note of accusation.

“I don’t work here,” you replied. “My sister does.”

“But you and your sister are close,” he said, leaning his head back against the headrest of your passenger seat and closing his eyes. Was he drunk then? “I knew you’d come.”

You frowned at him. _Wait._ “Did you do something to Marta’s car?”

“I wanted to see you,” Ransom said quietly.

Now you were angry. “And that’s how you went about it?”

“You two don’t seem to fight like siblings normally do,” he mused like you hadn’t just asked him a question. “I’m an only child so I didn’t have anyone to fight with… I didn’t have anyone at all.”

Of course he was making it about himself.

And that he was an only child? Yeah, that made sense.

“Marta and I are close,” you explained. Why was he _so_ interested?

“Did she warn you about me?” he wanted to know.

You had to be careful. Marta worked for his family and if you pissed him off, you could cost her the job.

“No,” you said simply.

Ransom’s head turned toward you, his eyes opening. “Bullshit.”

He was right but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“What do you think she told me?”

“I honestly don’t care,” Ransom said, one hand sliding over to your knee.

You threw it off and he laughed.

“Only one thing you need to know about me, pumpkin,” Ransom leaning closer to you, his breath stained by whiskey. “I always get what I want.”

“Why are you telling _me_ this?” You tried to swallow down your fear.

Ransom watched you in the dark, so large in your small car. His hand slid across to your leg again, this time his warm fingers crawled over your bare thigh.

“Because I want _you_ ,” he admitted.

Now you were trembling, scared.

And _excited_ which horrified you. Why did this spoiled man have to be so gorgeous? Such a threat to you?

You shook your head. “I would… I would bore you… I’m not like the girls you’re used to… I’m really not worth the chase.”

Again, that quiet laugh. When you tried to push his hand away, he held on. His fingers gripped your thigh painfully.

“Only one way to find out,” he told you, leaning toward you.

You tried backing away but he kept coming, pushing against your own door and claiming your mouth with his own. He was so much bigger than you and you knew in the dark, no one would be able to see you behind him from the porch, the house.

You tasted the alcohol on his lips, fighting to keep the kiss at that level. When his hand slid from your thigh up to your breast, your gasp had you opening for him. His moan was a deep rumble in his chest as he kissed you breathless, his tongue tangling with yours.

_God, he could kiss._

His hand worked its way up under your sweatshirt, sliding over your bare breast.

Easing back, he smiled at you. “Didn’t wear a bra for me?”

“I wasn’t planning to be here at all,” you managed, trying to catch your breath.

“But you are,” Ransom whispered, his hand dropping to your shorts. He’d plucked open the button before you could stop him, shoving his hand into your panties. “You’re right here.”

You desperately tried to pull his hand out of your pants, but his other hand wrapped around your throat, holding you to the glass of the window behind you. His grip was enough to make you fight to breathe but not enough to hurt.

What it _did_ make you do was panic. Your heart flew as his fingers slid along your most intimate flesh, finding and zeroing in on your clit. Teasing you with feather-light strokes, he held you pinned to the glass.

It was humiliating how wet you were beneath his fingers.

Ransom hummed, watching your face as he explored you. You were squirming in his hold, the pleasure he was drawing from you with the gentle pads of his fingers had you trying to close your thighs around him to stop him, but it didn’t even slow him down.

“Relax, pumpkin,” he whispered against your lips. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

_Yes._

“Please let me go,” you managed with less air than you normal had for speaking.

“Is that what you really want?” Ransom smirked at you, those blue eyes smoldering.

When he slid a finger just inside you, you jerked in his grasp, panicking.

“No!” you wailed. “Please, Ransom…”

His fingers tightened around your throat. His finger carefully slid in and out of you while you tried to pull yourself free of him.

“You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you?” Ransom whispered before pressing his mouth against you, the kiss gentle as the finger that was searching along your inner walls. “No one else has been in this pussy, have they?”

Tears welled up in your eyes. _Where was Marta?_

“Shhhh,” he whispered, releasing your throat and allowing you to shakily suck in air. His hand slid up to your cheek and he brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you grabbed his wrist, trying to move his hand.

When his finger slid along your inner wall you convulsed, your body wracked by a pleasurable impulse that stole your breath. When he did it again, you cried out. He captured the sound in his mouth. Ransom’s kiss was commanding, unrelenting as your body was wracked by powerful spasms, the orgasm shaking you like a rag doll as his fingers worked you skillfully.

Easing back from you, Ransom’s breath came as fast as yours. You could just see the outline of him swelled against the front of his jeans in the dark space within your car. Sliding his hand free of your shorts, he sucked his fingers into his mouth, moaning indecently.

You trembled in his shadow, watching him.

“Take Marta home,” he demanded, pressing forward to claim your swollen lips again. You could taste yourself on him. “Then get back here. I’ll wait.”

You shook your head. “I can’t, I—”

“Bullshit,” he told you with a frown. “Act like you’re going to bed and sneak back out. We’ll go back to my house.”

His lips scorched a path across your jaw, to your neck. Damn, but he made it feel good, soft lips nibbling at your throat and ear.

“Ransom,” you pleaded. He was drunk and you were scared and naïve. Sure, he might want you now but tomorrow, he’d be kicking you out of his house, crushing you under the boot of his superiority. You were no match for him on any level. You knew that.

All you could do really was run away.

A quick, sharp peck on the passenger door made you jump.

Ransom pulled back with an irritated sigh. “Fuck.”

You scrambled to button up your shorts, straighten your sweatshirt.

Marta’s voice was muffled as she called your name.

Casting one last baleful glance your way as he moved to his side of the car and put his hand on the door handle, he said, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Ransom?” Marta moved back as he pushed past her, climbing out of your car and marching back towards his grandfather’s home without really acknowledging her.

Marta scrambled into the car, glaring at you. “What was _that_?”

You couldn’t help it. You burst into tears under her scorn.

Any ire immediately drained from your sister’s face. “My God, what happened?”

You shook your head, putting the car in gear and turning the car around to head back for the front gate, driving faster than you needed to. Marta grilled you the entire way, offering to go to Harlan about it.

You begged her not to. You didn’t tell her that Ransom tampered with her car. Harlan arranged to have it towed to a local garage where they fixed it quickly and easily.

And most importantly, you didn’t go back that night as Ransom expected. You didn’t leave your house for three days, claiming to be sick. Marta alone suspected the true reason you were scared, staying in bed with your laptop to watch movies.

Slowly, you realized he wasn’t going to come to your family’s tiny apartment and break his way in. You realized he wasn’t following you as you applied for jobs, went to job interviews.

You swore then and there that you’d never return to the Thrombey home.

Ransom Drysdale wasn’t coming after you.

Until he did right after Thanksgiving and the death of his grandfather…

***

On Harlan Thrombey’s 85th birthday, the family held a party. Marta didn’t ask if you wanted to go with her. She did try to get you to tell her for the hundredth time what happened that night with Ransom, but you never did. You couldn’t. 

The more time went on, the more you decided you must have led him on somehow. You must have done something to make him think…

The next day the horrific news broke of Harlan’s death by apparent suicide. Fran, the housekeeper, found him dead. The kind older gentleman had slit his own throat.

Marta was devastated and seemed on edge. She wasn’t able to attend the man’s funeral which you knew hurt her immensely because she considered him a friend. She was called in repeatedly to answer questions from the police. When a private detective was called in, the world-renowned Benoit Blanc no less, you could see your sister’s anxiety escalating. 

You just didn’t understand what she was afraid of.

Over the course of the next several days, Marta’s behavior was erratic. When she came back from the reading of the will, she closed herself off in her room a lot like you had after the episode with Ransom. You knew something terrible had happened then.

Was Ransom involved? Had his attention turned to your sister?

You were the worst sister in the world for even thinking about it. Why would you wish that on her? Were you _jealous_?

You loved Marta and you wanted to help. You nearly beat down her bedroom door when the news broke that she’d inherited Harlan’s estate.

_What happened there?_

One thing you knew for sure. The Thrombey family had to be losing its mind right now. They’d turn on her.

You’d later find out that day when your sister went to confront the family about her role in Harlan’s death, she believed she’d given him a fatal dose of morphine and didn’t have the antidote in her bag where it was supposed to be. The detective had cut her off before she could confess. Instead, he’d pulled her into the story to piece together a complicated web of a tale.

Thanks to Fran letting Marta know where to find the toxicology report that would prove her innocence, Benoit Blanc believed that he had everything figured out. Only Fran died before they could confirm who she saw do what, who was responsible for her death.

And when the detective sent Trooper Wagner to bring in one Ransom Drysdale for questioning, he’d already left.

A call was immediately put out to bring him in as the primary suspect in the case now. The detective was puzzled when Marta fainted away into the floor at the news that Ransom had fled. When they’d brought her around, the detective was curious as to why she whispered her sister’s name.

You’d just made it back home from a job interview, hoping that Marta was okay. You thought about making a dinner that she liked to cheer her up when she got home.

You never made it to your door.

You were putting your keys in your purse, still in the driver’s seat, when someone grabbed you from behind. A white cloth was slapped over your nose and mouth and your senses were filled with something that smelled sweet.

The world faded for you and strong arms and you were dimly aware of someone jerking open your car door to pull you out. 

_Why did you never lock your car?_.

The last thing you heard was, “I’ve got you, pumpkin.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rough chapter. Non-con so please don't read if this will offend or upset you in any way. You have been warned.

Marta Cabrera’s cracked phone screen lit up. An unknown number. Of course. A burner phone most likely.

Benoit Blanc had been expecting this call.

Marta’s dark eyes widened on him. “What do I do?”

“Answer it,” the detective told her. 

With a shaking hand, the young woman at the center of the mystery he’d been investigating for the last week picked up the phone and answered it.

“Hello,” she whispered thinly.

Moving next to her on the cheap couch in her family’s apartment, Benoit could hear the deep voice of Ransom Drysdale, confirming his suspicions.

“How is everything going?” she asked, the pitch of her voice rising. “What do you think?”

Ransom Drysdale had disappeared from his grandfather’s house the day Marta had asked to meet with the family to tell them what she thought happened to Harlan Thrombey. Marta believed that she’d accidentally killed him with a fatal dose of morphine erroneously administered.

Thanks to a toxicology report Fran the housekeeper had obtained and had managed to let Marta know the location of while she was still alive, Marta had proof that she’d given Harlan the correct medications that night.

Since the older gentleman had left all his worldly possessions to his nurse and friend instead of his family, the Thrombeys were upset and demanding that she renounce the inheritance. If she didn’t, they were threatening to bring her up on charges of involuntary manslaughter. She may not have given him a fatal dose of morphine, but she’d led him to believe she had and that had been his motivation in taking his own life.

The family wouldn’t even need a criminal conviction to contest her inheritance using the Slayer Rule. If they could prove in civil court that her actions caused Harlan’s death, the family could be successful causing her to lose the inheritance and claiming it for themselves.

And someone had injected Fran with a lethal dose of morphine. From Marta’s bag which she’d regained possession of at that crime scene. A case logistically could be made that she tried to kill Fran working under the belief that she’d caused Harlan’s death and needed to get her hands on the only known copy of the toxicology report since someone had burnt the facility where the evidence was stored and where the report originated to the ground.

Marta claimed that Fran had said the words “Hugh did this” before she lost consciousness. But she had no way to prove that.

Marta Cabrera claimed she didn’t burn the facility, didn’t try to kill Fran, and Benoit believed her.

Given what the young woman had told him about her discussions with Ransom Drysdale, Benoit knew, he truly did, that Harlan’s own grandson was the true culprit here.

And his family had closed ranks, supporting Ransom and stating the belief that he couldn’t possibly be involved.

Ransom had fled before they could question him with the information they now had. It was essential that they bring him in.

For Marta’s sake.

Benoit understood that Ransom was trying to keep his playboy trust-fund lifestyle. The night of Harlan’s death, he’d told his grandson he was cutting him off.

But it seemed the money wasn’t all the Drysdale boy wanted.

And for all the trouble she was in, Marta only had one worry and it wasn’t for herself. It was the disappearance of her sister.

“Where is she?” Marta’s eyes were glassy with tears.

Benoit heard him ask who.

“Ransom, don’t do this,” Marta pleaded. “I know you took her. I don’t know what happened between you in the car on the 4th of July, but she was scared. Of _you_.”

Benoit thought he heard Ransom ask if she were alone. He nodded to her.

“Yes,” Marta said into the phone.

Grabbing the phone, Benoit covered the speaker while Marta threw up bile into the small wastebasket he’d found. He handed the phone back to her quickly.

Leaning closer, Benoit listened.

“Think of her as my insurance policy,” Ransom said. “As long as I get my part of the inheritance, she stays safe and happy.”

Benoit could feel Marta’s anxiety escalate. “Ransom, your family Is doing their damnedest to have me charged with manslaughter and to strip me of the inheritance under the Slayer Rule. If they succeed, I can’t give you anything.”

“Guess you better make sure you get me my money before that happens,” he said tersely.

“What?” Marta was panicking. “I didn’t try to kill, Fran. I didn’t try to harm Harlan. You know this because you—”

“You can’t prove I was involved in any of it,” Ransom cut her off.

“Ransom, please,” Marta was in tears now.

Benoit placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The poor thing had been through hell the last couple f weeks. And now her sister had been taken.

“Please, don’t hurt her,” Marta begged him. “Bring her back. Come back and confess to what you did.”

A dry humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’ll expect my portion of the inheritance, actually double that, sent to my personal account by the end of the week. You make that happen, yeah?”

“And once I do, you bring her back?” she pleaded.

Benoit shook his head. _Poor Marta_.

When he didn’t say anything to that, the young woman’s face crumbled.

“It’s kidnapping, Ransom,” Marta told him tearfully. “You won’t get away with it.”

“Is it though?”

“She’s not with you willingly,” Marta replied. “I know it.”

“The money, Marta,” Ransom said in a warning tone. “By close of business Friday.”

***

“There she is,” his voice reached you in the darkness of restless sleep.

You were warm and comfortable aside from a dull headache. Your throat hurt a little too. You could have been lying in your own bed at home.

Then you remembered that you never made it back to your apartment and your eyes flew open.

You were in a bed, under the covers, but it wasn’t yours. Bright sunlight filtered into the room across the bed and your heart began to race as his shadow appeared on the soft white bedding.

Ransom stood next to the bed grinning at you. His hands were in the pockets of his pressed gray trousers. The baby blue sweater he wore stretched across the muscled wall of his chest, made his eyes stand out.

And those eyes with that devilish glint were on you.

Your gaze darted around you quickly. It was a nice room, nice bed. A four-poster bed made of rich, dark wood. The walls were dark forest green and there were some furniture pieces in the same dark wood as the bed. Ornate, pewter lamps were placed strategically through the room and delicate, lace curtains decorated the tall windows around the room.

Everything in just this room probably cost more than your entire life so far.

You jerked when Ransom sat down on the edge of the bed, still grinning.

“Why am I here, Ransom?” you asked as calmly as you could manage. “Where are we?”

A large hand slid across the bed to cover your knee. You immediately shifted away from that touch.

Ransom smirked at you.

“I thought I told you to come back that night,” he reminded you.

Oh, you remembered. You shook your head.

“Why would I have gone back?” you asked carefully. “I was just there to pick up Marta.”

Ransom scooted closer to you. “Because I _told_ you to come back.”

Your shoes weren’t on. You were still wearing the clothes you remembered wearing. Slowly you began to slide towards the other side of the bed.

“Where are we?” you repeated, moving again.

Ransom just watched you, his gaze moving over you in a way that had alarm bells going off in your head.

You needed to find a way out of there. _Right now_.

After a moment, he sighed.

“Well, it seems that my grandfather left his entire estate to your sister,” Ransom said as if he were bored.

 _So it was true._ Harlan’s own family was so bad he disinherited them?

“You and y-your family… must be upset,” you said, still moving slowly toward the other side of the bed.

“I don’t give a shit if my family is upset,” Ransom said, his gaze on the comforter. “Fuck ‘em.”

Before you could say anything else, his attention was back on you.

“I’ll get my portion of it,” he told you. “Your sister is going to give it to me.”

You would have thought it was funny if you weren’t in the position you were in and scared as hell. Ransom was holding you for ransom?

“So you took me to… m-make Marta give you your part of the inheritance?” you asked, moving closer to the far edge of the bed.

“Well,” his gaze darkened on you, “that’s not the _only_ reason.”

Your hand had just reached the edge of the bed.

Ransom’s hand slid to cover your ankle.

“I’ve got to lay low for a while until all this blows over,” he explained, his hand tightening on your ankle. “And _you_ are going to be my entertainment.”

Your heart raced as you threw yourself off the bed, pulling against his grip with all you had.

And you pulled free, hitting the floor hard with a thud. Scrambling, you pulled yourself up off the floor and took off.

You’d just reached the bedroom door when Ransom slammed it shut in your face and then pushed you up against it hard, your cheek against the wood.

“No,” you were chanting, struggling to breathe and scared.

Ransom crowded you against the door, one hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back harshly. The other wrapped around your upper body, pinning your arms.

“I don’t think you’re understanding how this is going to work, pumpkin,” Ransom hissed in your ear as he pulled on your hair, pain blooming in your scalp. “You’re not going anywhere but _under_ me. You understand?”

“Please don’t,” you begged him, in tears now. “Please…”

Ransom licked a stripe up your neck, and you shuddered in his clutches in fear.

“But you’re so pretty when you beg me, pumpkin.” His grip on your hair, on your body, tightened. His hips ground against your lower back, the hard, hot ridge of him nudging into you insistently.

You managed to get your hands up, planting them on the door and trying to push off, to pull away from him. You got a hand on the doorknob—

“No, you don’t.” Ransom released your hair, getting both arms around you and hauling you back toward the bed.

You kicked, you screamed, you thrashed in his hold. Ransom was a lot bigger than you were, but you weren’t going down without a fight. When he threw you down on the bed face first, you clawed at the bedding wildly, trying to get away from him.

Ransom tackled you, manhandling you onto your back and dragging you to the center of the bed. He managed to grab both of your wrists as he climbed over you. You managed to land a solid kick to his ribs. You knew from the way he flinched that it hurt.

He released one of your wrists only long enough to slap you across the face. The blow stung and it stunned you long enough for him to recover your wrist and to drop his weight on you, to slot himself between your legs.

You recovered to him trying to kiss you again and you turned your head from side to side to avoid him. It was easy enough for him to clasp both of your wrists in one strong hand so he could grab your chin with the other, holding your head in place for his demanding kiss.

When you weren’t kissing him back, making him fight to hold you down, his hot lips skimmed along your jaw to your neck. Ransom worked at the hollow beneath your ear, finding your weak point and zeroing in on it. Your core tightened despite the fact that you didn’t agree to this.

“Ransom, please,” you were begging him. “Let me go…”

Dropping kisses down your neck to your chest, he released you only long enough to grab the hem of your top. Roughly he hauled it up and off your body, plucking at your front-clasp bra next and sending to flying off the bed.

You fought with everything you had trying to get out from under him. He easily grabbed you, pinned you back into place beneath him as a hand skimmed over your exposed breasts.

“Please.” Tears seeped from your eyes and you were tiring. “Ransom, I’ve never… I’m…”

That had him lifting his head and smiling up at you.

“I knew you lied to me, pumpkin,” he told you. “I _knew_ no one else has had you.”

When his lips closed around one of your nipples, you sobbed above him. He wasn’t going to stop. And somehow you didn’t think you’d be able to make him feel sorry for you. Not someone like him.

“Stop,” you pleaded when his lips chained kisses across to your other breast. “It’s not… too late.” His tongue lashed against the tight peak of your other breast and it took your breath away for a moment. “You don’t want to add… rape… on top of everything… do you?”

That stopped him. Ransom looked wrecked, his lips red and swollen, his cheeks flushed as he panted above you.

“On top of _everything_?” Ransom huffed a laugh. “Baby, I’m innocent until proven guilty. And _no one_ is going to find _me_ guilty of anything.”

Your heart lurched in fear at his words. Ransom was insane then?

“And,” his hand slid down your body, forcing its way into your jeans, your panties. His fingers dove into your private folds and your eyes squeezed closed at how easily his fingers slid against the wet petals of your sex.

He pulled that hand free, his fingers held up for you to see your own juices shining off them.

“You can’t rape the willing, pumpkin,” he told you with a wink.

You shook your head, unable to stop him when he wiped those fingers over your lower lip before sealing his mouth over yours, sharing the taste of you. Ransom moaned low into your mouth, enticing you with demanding kisses as his hand started plucking at your jeans.

“Can you taste how much you want me?” he whispered against your lips.

He straddled your waist now, grabbing the hem of that baby blue sweater and pulling it off.

You were momentarily distracted by the display of muscle and smooth skin. You didn’t even remember to fight him. Hair a shade darker than the light brown on his head sprinkled across his wide chest. You took it all in. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, and those abs.

Ransom’s dark chuckle confirmed that he caught you ogling him.

“That’s it, pumpkin,” Ransom whispered. “Take it all in.”

When you surged up, he wrapped a hand around your neck and pushed you back down while his other hand plucked at the button fly of his slacks.

Now you were scared. You hadn’t seen his sex yet but from the looks of the bulge at the front of those expensive slacks, he was big.

And you were untried.

“Ransom,” you whispered. “It’s not too late… take me home and I swear, Marta will give you the money…”

He released your neck long enough to work the front of your jeans.

“I’m going to get the money anyway,” he explained as his fingers hooked into both your jeans and panties and began to pull them down your body.

You fought with him but in the end his strength and determination to bare you to him won. He pulled off your socks and then hauled you back to the center of the bed when you tried to make a run for it.

“Ransom,” you pleaded. “Take me home. Please… I won’t say anything. I promise.”

Reaching over your head, Ransom grabbed the pashmina you saw him wearing on Valentine’s Day, the first night you’d met.

Your trembling was so bad that you couldn’t put up much of a fight as he used the huge wool scarf to tie your wrists together and somehow fasten them to the wooden headboard. Your heart raced as he finished, and you tried frantically to pull your arms free.

Panic began to take over as you realized just how helpless you were here. You didn’t know where you were, and no one had heard your screams so far. Ransom had you tied to the bed and could do anything he wanted with you.

Were you going to survive? Would you even see Marta again?

Sitting on his heels over you, Ransom took you in, smirking.

“It’s been a long time since I took someone’s cherry.” Leaning forward, he dipped his head to tease one of your nipples with his mouth. “I like the idea of taking yours.”

His mouth pressed to your ribs, your stomach as his body shifted lower on the bed.

“I like the idea that no one else has been in your before.” More kisses dropped on your tummy, your thighs.

Hooking your knees over his elbows, he pulled you flat and situated himself between your quivering thighs.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he admonished you as the tears returned. “I’m fucking good at this… You’re going to be begging me to fuck you when I’m done.”

You couldn’t look. You’d read about oral sex before, heard other women talk about it. You always thought it would be something you’d be willing to experience.

_But not like this._

And just like that, his mouth was on you and you jerked at first at the unfamiliarity of it. One heavy hand held your hips down on the bed. The fingers of the other were spreading you apart. When his tongue slid up from your entrance to your clit, you sucked in a breath. When his tongue settled in to flick against that sensitive bundle of nerves and he held you still for it, you thought you’d lose your mind.

Your hands tried desperately free of their bonds while you tried to dig your heels into the bed, into his back. Anything to pull the most sensitive part of yourself away from him.

The wicked gleam in those blue eyes as he watched you told you he was enjoying your distress. The more you tried to free yourself from him, the more he went at you. His tongue was busy in your folds, teasing your clit and sliding down to tease your entrance at turns.

Slowly his mouth worked you up until your toes were curling and your thighs were trying to close around his ears. The sensation swelled feeling wonderful and threatening all at once. Your entire body tensed like a bowstring.

Ransom doubled his efforts, his tongue darting in and out of your channel in a wicked tease that left you feeling empty, left you wanting. Your breathy cries filled the room. When one strong finger slid into you, you gasped, the touch pushing you closer to your release. When the second finger joined it and they began sliding against your inner walls, your body was trying to clamp around them. His tongue went back up to tease your aching clit and you felt like you were about to blow apart.

When those busy fingers found one particular spot in you, you shattered. Cries and screams filled the room as he kept the tension on, dragging out your release until the pleasure almost blended with pain. You were panting above him, stunned and writhing on the bed he’d bound you to. You were vaguely aware that he’d released your wrists.

The smug smirk on his face swam before your eyes as you recovered. His mouth claimed yours as he loomed over you, filling your mouth with your own taste as his tongue demanded entry and pushed inside to tangle with yours.

“See how good your little pussy tastes?” Ransom whispered against your lips. “Nobody’s eaten you before, have they?”

Ransom really seemed to be getting off on being your first. Why was that exciting to someone like him?

You didn’t respond but his gaze searched yours and you knew he drew his answer from that.

“I told you I was good at it,” he whispered. “I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you for months.”

One hand had slid down and pulled his cock from his trousers. He worked himself with his hand and a quick glance down showed you that, yeah, he was _big_. If that even fit, it was going to hurt like hell.

“Now,” he shifted so that you felt the swollen head of him sliding through the wetness of your folds, “I need to get my cock in you… Get you opened up for me.”

You were shaking your head no, pleading with your eyes as you tried to catch your breath.

Ransom stole more kisses from your lips, moaning into it as he stroked himself.

“Shhh.” There was pressure as he pushed against your entrance. “You let me get this far… we’re fucking…”

“I didn’t… let you do _anything_ ,” you said pitifully.

More pressure, it burned as your body tried to stretch around him.

“Gonna fuck you so good,” Ransom ground out as he pushed in more. “Gonna— Fuck! You’re fucking _tight_ … Gonna fuck you so good… you won’t want anyone else…”

When he pushed further, he reached your barrier and you sucked in a breath. His gaze met yours, his dark and heated with the desire to shove himself inside you until he couldn’t go further. Your heart slammed in your chest as you waited, your channel hurting and pulsing around the thick shaft of him pushing into your untried channel.

With a low growl, his cock tore into you, the sharp pain had you crying out and releasing the breath you didn’t know you’d held onto. Your hands worked to push him back, push him away. He caught them easily and held them down on the bed, moving over you and beginning to push deeper with careful, slow movements.

It still hurt to the point that you were blinking back tears, still desperately trying to get out from under him. To get away from him.

But soon enough he was buried deep inside you, and he held there.

Carefully he slid out, his gaze darting to where his body was shoved into yours and he winced. When his gaze lifted back to yours, his grip on your hands eased just a little. Ransom draped himself over you without putting his weight on you. It was warm, intimate. It would have been perfect if this were a man you loved and you were someone who mattered.

As it was, you just let the tears come as he pinned you to the bed. It hurt, your flesh burning and stinging as it stretched around his invasion.

“Hey,” Ransom whispered, drawing your attention to him. He released one wrist, reaching for your knee and pulling it up to his hip. On instinct, you did the same thing with your other leg, your thighs shaking around him.It did help a little.

“Easy,” he whispered, his hand gentle as it stayed on your hip. “Try to relax… Breathe.”

Slowly, he pushed back in and you winced. A muscle at his jaw twitched as he slid out, but not all the way. Gently, he slid back in. The careful back and forth motion hurt less and less as he moved. Hovering above you, he watched your face, gauging your reaction as he carefully worked himself inside you.

You were ashamed of yourself but couldn’t look away. You found Ransom just as beautiful as you had the first time you saw him, even if he did call you a hooker. His handsome face, those beautiful blue eyes. He was gorgeous…

But there was a beast inside him, and he was rutting into you like one, against your will.

When the pain eased, Ransom’s movements gained in speed, but his strokes remained careful. And you were grateful. He’d lowered himself over you, holding his weight on his forearms. You’d wrapped your arms around him and just hung on, waiting for him to finish.

But that wasn’t what he had in mind.

One hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and beginning to tease it with the pads of his fingers.

“Please don’t,” you begged breathlessly as he worked you, the subtle movement of his fingers never ceasing.

“You don’t want me to make you come again?” Ransom’s tongue teased the shell of your ear. That combined with his fingers to make you clamp around him tightly. “Oh, I think you _do_ … Fuck, that’s it… squeeze me… I want you to come on my cock, baby… I want you to crave it… crave _me_ …”

As he’d done earlier, he’d found a rhythm and worked you relentlessly, groaning when your channel clenched around him because of the onslaught of pleasure that you weren’t used to. It didn’t help that his mouth found every place that drove you wild around your ears, neck, shoulders…

Finally, your body surrendered to his will, pleasure exploding in your core and spreading out through your veins like fire. You hung onto him with frantic hands, your legs clamped around his slip hips. Your pussy pulsed around him, squeezing him as the release shook you to your core.

Ransom’s thrusts quickened as he moved harder, faster. His mouth dropped open, his own release about to swamp him as his movements sped up. With the last bit of strength you had, you clenched around him hard and it worked. Ransom shouted as he found his release within you, his grip on your tightening until it almost hurt as he pumped his release into you.

Ransom rolled off you, dropping heavily next to you on the bed. His breath came as fast as yours.

You were shaking, sitting up to find the covers to pull over yourself anyway. You’d just reached them when you saw the blood, staining your thighs, staining the pristine white sheets beneath you. A quick glance over at his cock showed it smeared with your blood and his own release.

The tears came on then at the stark red proof of what he’d taken from you. You shook your head. _Selfish asshole._ You were just another possession to him, something to take and use as he did with everything sand everyone else.

One blue eye slit open and then he was gazing up at you.

You braced yourself, ready for his scorn, mockery. Now that he’d gotten what he wanted from you…

Sitting up next to you, he surprised you by wrapping his arms around you. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, his hands sliding up and down your back. “It’s not a big deal. Everybody goes through this… You’re what? Early twenties? It was time.”

You shook your head, your tears smearing against his chest. “It should have been _my_ choice,” you whispered.

“And who would you have chosen? Some loser from school?” a hint of his usual sarcasm bled into his words. “You couldn’t do better than a Thrombey.”

Why was he like this? Being a Thrombey made him better than you?

“Someone I loved would have… been better than a Thrombey,” you told him bitterly.

“Love, huh?” He still held you, his hands gentle as they smoothed over you. “Yeah… You keep believing in that.”

That pissed you off. The man holding you had kidnapped you, dragged you off to God-knows-where, raped you, and now his arrogant ass had the nerve to lecture you about _love_ of all things?

“What would _you_ know about _that_?” you shot at him, pushing at him until he released you.

Ransom looked at you like you’d slapped him across the face as you climbed out of the bed.

What was that look? Someone like him couldn’t possibly understand caring about anyone but himself.

With shaking hands, you began to fish your clothes out of the floor, desperate to cover yourself.

He hopped off the bed and made his way around to you, naked as the day he was born and comfortable in his own skin.

He approached you like you were a frightened animal, preventing you from scooping up your clothes. With a hand at your back, he guided you out of the room and into a good-sized bathroom next door.

“Why don’t you soak in the tub?” he suggested almost awkwardly now, grabbing a white robe from the back of the bathroom door and pulling it on. “Should have everything you need here. I’ll change the bed out.”

You just stared as he made his way back out the door of the bathroom and he closed it behind him.

 _Wait._ He’d just left you in the bathroom? Alone?

_Now was your chance to escape._

There was a pink silk robe on the back of the door. It would have to do. You pulled it on and went for the doorknob, ready to run like hell to freedom from wherever you were.

The doorknob wouldn’t budge.

_What the…?_

Bathrooms locked from the inside, not the outside. You turned the lock, thinking you’d just failed to unlock the door, and tried again.

It wouldn’t budge.

_Fuck._

Glancing around, you spied a window next to the tub. Yanking on the cord to open the clean, white vertical blinds covering it, you saw a beautiful frosted window.

With thick black bars on the other side.

_What the hell?_

You tried the door again, you checked the window for any way you could possibly get out.

When the realization that you weren’t going anywhere _right now_ hit you, you leaned back against the bathroom door, slid down to the floor, and had yourself a good cry.

“Marta,” you whimpered to the empty bathroom. “Please come find me…”


	3. Chapter 3

You ended up taking that bath, filling the tub with water as hot as you could tolerate it and rose-scented bath oils that did smell heavenly. You did your best to scrub Ransom off you, out of you.

You’d been on the pill since you were fifteen because your periods had been heavy enough to cause anemia and the cramps kept you out of school one or two days each month. You were okay for now. But you were on the last active week right now and next week, your period was due.

You sent up every prayer you knew that Marta and the police managed to save you from this hell by then.

When the water cooled, you let it out, drying yourself and using the nice skin cream products you found there. The scents were comforting, and they were products you’d never be able to afford so you took advantage.

Then it occurred to you that these were women’s products. Did Ransom bring other girls here?

_Wait. Did he do this to other girls?_

Somehow you didn’t think so but…

Your nerves got the better of you and by the time you’d wrapped yourself up in that pink robe again, sitting against the wall next to the window, you were a wreck.

You were at Ransom Drysdale’s mercy.

Actually, you weren’t sure he had any. He’d’ wanted you. He’d had you. The ache between your thighs was a deep, painful reminder even when you moved carefully of how he’d owned you. There’d been little you could do to stop him.

When the bathroom door unlocked, Ransom walked in, wearing black silk boxers and a robe that was a deep red color that he left open to show off the muscled wall of his chest, his abs, and thighs.

“You done?” he asked casually.

As if nothing extraordinary had happened, he approached you, holding out a hand to pull you out of the floor. You took it, knowing he had to realize yours was shaking. He didn’t release your hand, holding it firmly as he led you back to the bedroom where he’d taken your virginity.

When he closed the door behind you, you pulled free of him and ran to that door. The doorknob didn’t budge. The door was locked tight.

You heard a deep sigh behind you, but he didn’t try to stop you.

“The windows are just like the ones in the bathroom,” he sounded bored. “Just trying to save you some time.”

You glanced at the windows. It was dark outside now.

And you were trapped.

With Ransom.

_Fuck my life._

Slowly, you turned to find him climbing on the bed, turning on the enormous wide-screen TV mounted to the opposite wall with a remote and idly scrolling through channels. Gone was the bedding you’d bled on. The bed wasn’t made well but it was clean now.

There was a giant bag of takeout next to him on the bed, some plates and silverware next to that.

“Get over here,” he ordered you without taking his gaze off the television.

Standing there forlornly in your robe, you wrapped your arms around yourself. Still shaking, still holding yourself together.

Ransom cut you an annoyed side glance.

“You going to stand there and stare at me all night,” he said, glancing back at the TV, “or are you going to come over here? You’re not going anywhere, pumpkin. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Blowing out a defeated exhale, you slowly approached the bed, praying Marta knew where you were. That she was on her way.

“Make yourself useful and serve us up.”

_Was this how it was going to be?_ He was going to bark orders at you and use you as he wanted?

There was a ton of Chinese food in the tall takeout bag. Your stomach grumbled as you hefted up the bag and carried it to the nice cabinet that you guessed held a mini-bar and a mini-fridge. At least it had a marble top so you could place the bag on it. You went back for the plates, silverware, and utensils he’d obviously grabbed without a lot of thought.

You served up plates for the two of you, his held way more food than yours did.

You weren’t eating to enjoy it. You were eating only to survive.

You carried the plate you’d made to him, holding it out while standing as far away as possible. His gaze flicked to it and back to the TV. He’d found a football game.

“Am I on a diet?” came his smartass reply. “More please.”

_Asshole._

Your legs weren’t completely steady from earlier, but you did as he asked, heaping different dishes as neatly as you could on the plate and carrying it back to him. This time he grinned, sitting up and taking the plate from you.

“That’s more like it,” he winked at you before reaching over to the bedside table, handing you an unopened Stella Artois.

You took it, making your way back for your plate.

“Mmm,” the sound made you cringe, reminded you of earlier. “Good sex always makes me hungry.”

You couldn’t look back. You didn’t want him to see he’d made you cry.

Keeping your back to him, you took your own plate and your beer and gingerly sat down in the chair at the desk in the room’s far corner. You didn’t want to eat on principle. But you were hungry, and you needed to take care of yourself as much as you could to make it until Marta could get to you.

Behind you, Ransom watched his football game and ate. You hoped that he forgot you were even there.

The beer certainly helped. You didn’t drink a lot and it went to your head, taking the edge off the anxiety you fought, the soreness of your body. When you finished with your meal, habit had you going back to put everything back together, closing containers and putting everything back in the bag. 

Going back to the chair, you curled up in it, grateful for the padding on the hard wood. You leaned your head against the back, dozing off in your exhaustion.

“Hey,” Ransom’s voice woke you abruptly. He stood next to you, leaning down to get on your eye level. “Need to go to the bathroom?”

You nodded.

You rose from the chair weakly, awkwardly because you were sore. You followed him to the door and watched mutely as he unlocked it with a key.

You were about to walk through to the bathroom. Ransom turned to grip your shoulder, again getting on your eye level.

“Don’t try anything stupid,” he warned you.

You blinked up at him through tired eyes. “I don’t think I’m physically capable,” was all you said.

A flash of something – remorse? regret? – flashed in those baby blue eyes as he let go of you, allowing you to move past him into the bathroom right outside the bedroom door.

When you re-entered the bedroom, you noticed the takeout was gone and Ransom wasn’t there either.

But then he was back, locking the door and balancing bottles in the crook of his arm as he pulled the door closed. Two more beers. You watched him make his way back to the bed. 

You slowly returned to the chair.

“What are you doing?” he sounded annoyed. “Get over here.”

Turning your back to him, you slowly sank into the chair.

“You’re really going to sleep in that chair?”

The question caught you off guard.

“Sleep?” you asked.

“Yeah, I’m going to watch the game and probably fall asleep,” Ransom replied. “Get over here.”

When you didn’t move, you thought he’d let it go. But then you heard his feet hit the floor and his heavy footfalls drawing closer. You flinched when you felt his hand on your shoulder.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

Glancing up, you saw he’d removed the robe, standing there in just the black boxers. You tried not to focus on how he looked. What did it matter how handsome he was when he was a beast on the inside?

He held out his hand to you and in it were two small round pills. You looked closer at the number printed on one. _75/325._

“Percocet?” you asked him.

His nod told you that you’d guessed correctly.

“Wash those down and get your ass in bed,” he said pressing them into your palm and handing you another beer.

You were shaking your head and he was already walking away.

“I can’t take these,’ you replied. “Pain meds knock me out.”

“Yeah?” You saw him climb back on the bed in your peripheral vision. “Something you wanted to stay awake and do?”

You didn’t miss the suggestion in his tone.

No, all you really wanted to do was go home. With your mother and Marta. To your job hunting. To your life.

Maybe it would be better to save your strength right now. You weren’t getting out according to him. You _would_ double-check the windows if you could catch him gone.

Twisting off the cap of the beer, you took the pain pills and swallowed them down. You knew the alcohol would just make them work faster. Maybe that was a good thing.

Would you even escape this? Would you live?

Turning in the chair so you could see him, you took a deep breath.

“Ransom?”

He didn’t pull his gaze away from the television.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked honestly with your heart racing wildly in your chest.

When that gaze turned on you, you knew a moment of panic. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked that question. After all, if he _did_ mean to kill you, would he tell you? Would it make it happen faster?

That gaze on you was hard to read. He stared at you intently for a few seconds, pushing your anxiety higher.

“Not part of my current plan, pumpkin,” his tone was annoyed.

“Why did Harlan leave everything to my sister?” You wanted to know.

“That’s not a bad question.” At that, he went back to watching the TV. “Especially when you consider that she killed him.”

“ _What?_ ” What had he just said to you?

Ransom smirked, giving you his full attention from where he stretched out on the bed.

“Harlan… committed suicide,” you said, trying to keep calm.

_Oh, God, he’s not telling the truth, right?_

Marta had been so anxious, so closed off since Harlan’s death. You knew she was very sad for his loss, the loss of her job. But it had been very out of character for Marta to have been so skittish, so nervous. You swore she hadn’t acted like that since you were kids.

When she’d known she’d done something and was trying not to get caught…

No, Ransom was _lying_. Marta wouldn’t do anything to Harlan.

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” Ransom sat up in bed, grabbing the other beer and opening it. “The night of my grandfather’s 85th birthday, she was at the party, right? She took him up to his room and she accidentally gave him an overdose of morphine. She didn’t have the antidote in her bag so…”

You didn’t understand, taking another drink of the beer.

“Ransom, that doesn’t make any sense.” You were still shaking in your chair. “He killed himself. His throat was cut. She said the detectives told her he cut his… his own throat. Why would he…”

“Your mother’s an illegal immigrant here, right?” Ransom stared you down.

_Fuck. Had Marta told him that?_

“My grandfather was very fond of your sister,” Ransom went on. “He knew if it was discovered your sister’s negligence caused his death that people would take a closer look and your mother could be deported. My grandfather’s house was too far away for an ambulance to get to him on time without the antidote. I think he did it to save your sister, honestly.”

_Oh, God._

Ransom was lying. You shook your head in denial. Marta wouldn’t have screwed up the medications. You didn’t believe it. She took her job so seriously.

And to think that sweet older gentleman would go _that_ far to save your sister? To save your family?

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Ransom was smirking at you. “Think your sister can’t make a mistake? At least she _said_ it was a mistake.”

You had more of the beer, your mind spinning as you considered the implications of his words.

“Wait,” you explained. “If Harlan left everything to Marta… He couldn’t have changed his will that quickly. That means…”

“He’d already made her his heir,” Ransom finished for you.

You were confused. “Why would he leave his family nothing?”

Ransom shrugged, his gaze shifting now between you and the television.

“His family is a bunch of greedy, self-absorbed assholes,” Ransom said matter-of-factly.

“And you’re not?”

Ransom grinned at you. “Touché.”

“But if you all believe my sister is responsible for his death, can’t you… contest the will?”

“Oh, you can bet my family is,” Ransom told you. “Marta’s facing the music right now. If they can prove she caused his death, she won’t get a red dime.”

You felt fuzzy. You were struggling to keep up. “If she loses the inheritance, how does that benefit _you_? How does it justify… you taking _me_?”

“Marta is going to ensure I get _my_ inheritance by the end of this week,” Ransom explained. “After that, I don’t really give a shit who gets the rest of it. And your sister?”

You really were feeling groggy now.

“Your sister not only accidentally killed Harlan, but she may have destroyed the forensics lab where the evidence was stored,” he went on. “And she may even have killed Fran the housekeeper to cover it all up.”

You knew you had to be staring at him like he spoke a foreign language now, but you couldn’t help it. Marta? Kill someone with intent? What did Fran have to do with any of it?

You shook your head.

“Come on,” Ransom’s gaze locked with yours. “For the house, the publishing company, for $60 million in cash?”

No, Marta wouldn’t do that. Not for money.

“No,” you told him. “I don’t believe that.”

“But you’re afraid there’s a possibility,” Ransom pointed out.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling tired and a little dizzy. It was the Percocets and the beer.

You still had enough wherewithal to ask one more question.

“When she gets you the money, will you let me go?” you asked carefully.

Ransom’s expression sobered then. His gaze dropped.

“Ransom?” What did that reaction mean? Was he going to kill you?

What if _he_ was behind everything that happened to Harlan?

“How do _you_ know that Marta did everything you’re claiming she did?”

“She told me,” Ransom replied, meeting your gaze. “And you know she has a hard time lying.”

Yes, you did know that. Marta threw up when she lied.

“She told you she accidentally gave Harlan an overdose?” you wanted to make sure.

Ransom nodded.

“And killed Fran and blew up the forensics lab?”

Ransom just held your gaze.

Your heart filled with dread. You wanted to talk to Marta. You needed to know what Ransom was telling you wasn’t true.

“Can I have my phone back?” you asked, no longer feeling like your head was attached to your body.

But the pain was muted now. That was good.

“Of course not,” Ransom said as he rose from the bed again. “Can’t have you giving away our location.”

“Where are we?” He hadn’t told you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he moved closer to your chair, plucking the Stella Artois bottle from your hand. It was nearly empty.

When had you drunk all that?

“Are you having to lay low… because you had something to do with it all?” you wanted to know. “Is _that_ why you took me?”

Ransom set the bottle on the marble top of the counter next to you before returning to your chair and scooping you up in his arms. You pushed weakly at his chest, but you couldn’t fight him. You were tired, sore, and buzzed.

Ransom dumped you on the bed before crawling up on it himself, crawling over you to get back to the side where he’d been sitting. Stretching out, he returned his attention to the football game.

“Answer me,” you pleaded.

Ransom didn’t look at you. “Maybe I did… Maybe it’s all Marta. Maybe it’s someone else… Either way, my grandfather is dead… I did love the old bastard.”

Was it your imagination? Or did he sound truly sad?

“Why did you take _me_?” You didn’t want to know the answer, but you _needed_ to know.

“Because right now, Marta is his heir,” Ransom said slowly. “And she’s currently in the position to give me what I’m due. And she’ll give it to me if she wants you back.”

_Okay, let’s try the question again._ “When she gives you the money, you’ll send me back?”

Blowing out an exhale, Ransom continued to watch the game. He didn’t answer you.

You lay still, hoping he couldn’t hear the thumping of your heart as you waited, wondering what he was going to do.

Ransom did just what he’d said earlier. He watched the football game and somewhere before the fourth quarter, you heard the light sound of his snores.

Now would be the time to check the door again, to check the windows. You tried but felt so dizzy when you sat up. It wasn’t long until you lay back down and joined him in sleep.

***

Ransom stretched the next morning, pleasantly warm. It took him a moment to remember he was at the lake house. It took less time to remember why he was there and who was in bed with him.

Normally, this was the part where he was waking the girl he’d brought home, letting her know it was time to get up, get dressed, and fuck off. Ransom wasn’t looking for a relationship. Rarely did he like any of them enough to tolerate them the next morning when he was sober.

The girl in his bed now?

Well, she was special, wasn’t she?

She lay curled on her side next to him, sound asleep. He woke up curled around her, his thighs tight behind her, one arm draped over her warm little body. His nose brushed against the fine hairs at the back of her neck.

If Ransom put aside the cluster fuck with her sister, his grandfather, and the rest of his family, well, he found himself in an odd place.

_Why did you take me?_

Ransom smiled as he pressed his lips to the tender skin at the base of her neck.

Yeah, sure. He’d taken her to make sure Marta gave him his inheritance. What he told his grandfather’s nurse was the truth. She was his insurance. A failsafe.

But it wasn’t the _only_ reason.

She’d caught his eye the first night Marta had brought her to Harlan’s house in her sexy little red dress and heels. He’d been a little disappointed that she didn’t have the attitude to go with that getup. But when she’d flashed those big innocent eyes at him later at her car?

Ransom’s mind had flooded with enough perverted scenarios to fill a bad porno.

It didn’t help that unlike most of the female population, she wanted nothing to do with him. Most women of all ages went for him for one reason or another. They either went for his looks or his money – or both. Some were drawn to him because they wanted someone to treat them like shit and he would certainly do that.

This one? She’d been leery of him from the start. Those big eyes had watched him like he was a predator every time she saw him. She’d tried to _avoid_ him.

It was a new experience for him. Not unwelcome necessarily but different. Ransom would have been lying if he said it didn’t speak to something primal in him.

Hell, she’d had him daydreaming about her in a way he hadn’t done since he’d been a horny teenager. It had been fun for him to pretend she truly was innocent. Oh, he hadn’t really believed she _was_ that innocent. Who was at that age these days?

But the fantasy of dragging her to his bed and taking that from her? How many times had he jerked off to that? He’d even pictured it once recently with another girl in his bed when he’d had too much to drink and his prick had tried to flag on him at the finish line.

It had worked like a charm.

He shook his head at himself. He’d only seen her a handful of times leading up to this. As pathetic as it was, with as many women as he’d had, he couldn’t get this one girl out of his head.

When his grandfather turned up dead the day after his own birthday and his scumbag family spiraled out of control, he decided to kill two birds with one stone.

Ransom knew he was a suspect. All of them were. But Ransom knew if he took himself off the table for a little while, maybe the truth would be revealed, and he could come back. In the meantime, Marta had all his grandfather’s worldly possessions, just as Harlan had promised. And well? Who could blame him for trying to get his part of that?

And he’d meant it when he said he’d help Marta. Maybe only because it seemed the best way to get what he wanted, but hey… When he’d agreed to that, he didn’t know that someone torched the forensics lab. He didn’t know Fran had been left for dead or even what she had to do with fucking any of it.

Had Marta done that? Her sister didn’t believe that.

A member of _his_ family? That seemed more fucking likely.

He _had_ planned to help Marta until he felt that Southern fuck of a detective breathing down _his_ neck. Had Ransom stayed another minute, no doubt the man he’d hired himself would have found some way to pin all of this on _him_.

As if he would kill his own grandfather. Hell, Harlan was the only member of his family that Ransom even remotely liked.

Ransom hadn’t lied to her. He _had_ loved Harlan.

No, someone else was in the background and Ransom was really curious as to who it was. But he’d let Benoit Blanc figure it all out. That’s what he’d fucking paid him for. Well, first he’d paid him to hopefully find some way for Marta be implicated faster so the will wouldn’t stand but this worked too.

In the meantime, Marta had the money, he had her sister. And he’d hang onto her until he got his money. _And_ until he got whatever this fascination with her was out of his system.

_When she gives you the money, you’ll send me back?_

Ransom grinned.

That she’d actually been a fucking virgin had been _such_ a surprise. It only really made things worse for him. His dark fantasies had been actualized. He was the only person to touch her intimately. He was the only one who’d ever been in that tight little pussy of hers.

The memory of it made him hard as a fucking rock.

Sliding his hand over her stomach, his fingers found the ties to the silk robe she wore. His mother’s robe of all damn things. His hand slid over the supple skin of her stomach, up to her breasts. They fit in his hands so nicely, so soft. Her nipples tightened into little peaks beneath his palm, responding to him even while she was asleep.

Grinding himself against her, he slid his hand back down to her stomach, down to the flesh between her thighs that only he had claimed. His fingers slid into her lips finding her, warm and juicy. He traced a finger around her clit, grinning when her hips nudged back against him. When he stroked the little bundle of nerves directly, her movements increased with the need he wanted to build in her.

Lifting his head, he gazed at her face. _Still asleep._ The Percocets really _had_ knocked her out.

And God, he was _aching_.

Ransom slid down the bed, hiking up the back of the robe she wore as he went. He revealed the smooth globes of her ass, sliding his fingers into the intimate heat of her. He groaned, feeling the slick on his fingers.

_Just a little more…_

Ransom had never been with a virgin before, even when he’d been one. He was doing her a favor in sliding her top leg up towards her chest, baring her pussy to him. He got his mouth on her, working her up and getting her nice and wet for him.

Ransom knew his way around a pussy, knew how to use that little treat to get what he wanted. He couldn’t help but grin at the sounds starting to emerge from her in her sleep. The little moans and hums had him doubling his efforts, tracing her entrance with a finger.

Bracing a hand to hold that thigh above his head, he worked her clit with his tongue, worked one, then two fingers into her. The inner walls of her were fluttering against his fingers as her wetness grew, he felt the tension growing in her body.

One slim hand slid down over his, down into his hair, seeking. She murmured something above him, probably waking up. Ransom found her g-spot with the pad of his finger, holding onto her when her tight little body clamped around his intruding fingers. He kept working that spot, working her clit with his mouth.

He knew she was awake by the time he brought her off. Her sharp little cry conquered the harsh rasps of her breath to ring out around them in the room. Her fingers twisted in his hair and her body trembled and shook above him.

Oh, she was ready now.

Those big eyes watched warily as he rose above her and he painted her lips with her wetness from his. He moaned as he deepened the kiss, wanted her to taste her own excitement. Her hands trembled against his chest like she couldn’t decide if she wanted him closer or she wanted to push him away.

Ransom resumed his place behind her, jerking down his boxers with one hand while the other pushed its way under her. That hand slid up her chest, making her gasp before sliding up to hold her throat. He felt her nervous swallow beneath his palm. Her heart was flying as he stroked himself behind her.

Lifting her leg, he pulled it back before he began to slip into her from behind. He tightened his hand on her throat just a little, just enough to make her a little breathless. To let her know who was in control. It stayed her because she held so still as he worked himself into her tight little body, groaning in appreciation of how those tight silky walls clung to his cock.

When he was balls deep in her, he started to move. He watched her hands flutter like flightless birds, not sure what to do with them. Grabbing one, he wrapped it around his neck, pushing her fingers into his hair. Taking the hint, her fingers clutched there. The other gripped the sheets until her knuckles were white, her breath coming fast as he railed into her from behind.

“Damn, baby,” he trailed his lips over her neck and shoulder as he fucked her. “You feel so good.”

Her walls fluttered around him at the praise and he grinned as he sucked a tender spot at the base of her neck. He made a mental note of that.

She was stiff in his hold even though her little center was so wet he could hear it when he fucked into her. She kept trying to shift her hips as he moved behind her.

“Sore,” she managed to say, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“Yeah?” Ransom slid his hand from her hip down into the apex of her thighs, his fingers teasing her bundle of nerves as he worked his cock into her. “I can fix that.”

He kept his touch light, teasing. He knew the minute he found a rhythm she liked because her body clenched around him so tight, weeping for him. He chained kisses up her neck to her ear as he sped up his thrusts, starting to go at her just a little harder.

“Your little pussy belongs to me,” he whispered hotly in her ear, loving the way she shivered. “You know that? It’s all mine… I love the way you’re squeezing my cock, pumpkin.”

Again, she tightened around him, so hot and wet. 

_Someone has a praise kink._

His fingers teased her clit as his own pleasure rose, tightening his balls and making him fight to hang on. He wanted to bring her off again. The slapping sound of his flesh meeting hers was a dirty sound as he fucked her with urgency, wanting her to come before he did.

When she came, she cried out and her little pussy tightened like a vice on him. That was all it took. Ransom shouted as he held onto her, his hips driving into her hard and fast as he unloaded. Pleasure flooded him like the best rush, shaking him as he clung to her, easing himself down.

Ransom rolled onto his back, his breathing a harsh, ragged sound that drowned out the sound of hers. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision, pleasure making him feel melted in the best way on the bed.

Something about her… _Damn…_

After a few moments, he felt her moving carefully next to him, pulling the covers back up to cover her.

“Ransom, I need to go to the bathroom,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered, forcing himself to sit up when he would have liked to sleep another hour or so.

“Can I have my purse?” Those big eyes were on him.

He didn’t like the pinch of guilt that gaze inspired in him.

“Your phone won’t be in it,” he warned her, climbing off the bed and fishing his own robe out of the floor, pulling it on.

Her nod told him she wasn’t surprised. “And my clothes?”

Ransom snorted as he came around the bed and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steering towards the door.

“That one I need to think about,” he told her, unlocking the door and showing her into the bathroom. “I like you better like this.”

Again, with the sad look. Shaking his head, Ransom nudged her into the bathroom, giving her swat on the ass as he closed the door behind her and locked it.

He needed coffee and to figure out something for them to eat.

He’d just reached the kitchen when the someone started pounding away on the door.

_Fuck_.

Ransom had hidden the beamer well enough. He hoped. Maybe if he kept quiet, they’d think the place was empty. He had the only key he knew of to the place.

“Ransom!” they yelled, beating on one of the windows now. Bright eyes spotted him, filled with anger.

_Well, shit._

He could elect to ignore them, but he knew better than that. _Might as well get this over with…_

Resigned, he went to the door in the kitchen and unlocked it. Slowly, he opened it to reveal one very pissed off Linda Drysdale.


	4. Chapter 4

Linda darted into the kitchen past him. Ransom shook his head and closed the door.

“Good to see you too, Ma,” he muttered.

Linda turned around in the kitchen, trying to glare him down. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ransom grinned, moved over to the counter for his half-empty bottle of Grey Goose and his shot glass. He poured one and knocked it back, making her wait. Mostly because he knew she hated waiting for anything.

“Depends on _which_ thing I’m doing,” Ransom said, enjoying the vodka as it burned into his stomach. Enjoying the way it mixed with the taste of her in his mouth.

“Ransom,” Linda pressed her hands together, taking a step toward him. “Our family is in crisis right now. Are you sober?”

Ransom nodded. “Are you?”

Linda’s hand shot out, slapping him across the face sharply.

“Did you do it?” his mother demanded.

Straightening to his full height, Ransom took a calming breath. He’d ignore his stinging cheek. For now.

“Do what?” he asked slowly, trying to keep his temper at bay. His mother had always been able to push all his buttons. She always managed to bring out the worst in him.

Linda’s blue eyes, eyes he’d inherited, were glassy with tears. “That detective – Blanc – is saying that the toxicology report came back clean. It turns out that Marta, my father’s little gold-digging Argentine nurse, didn’t give him a fatal dose of morphine. But _someone_ intended for her to.”

Ransom nodded, pouring another shot. “And you know for a fact Marta _didn’t_ do it?”

Something in his mother’s face shifted at the question. “Blanc believes her. “

“That wasn’t my question,” he pointed out. And at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised by anything. What if Marta were behind it? Did Harlan _tell_ Marta he was leaving her everything?

If Marta _was_ behind it?

Her mother would be deported. Her little naïve sister would be left to fend for herself. She’d _need_ someone.

Linda plucked her glasses off her face, swiped at her eyes with her fingers as she did when she was agitated. Carefully, she put the glasses back on and that high-powered perception was back on him.

“If Marta didn’t accidentally kill my father, _your_ grandfather,” Linda said slowly, “that means someone else intended for that to happen.”

_Here we go._

“And he thinks that someone is _you_.”

Ransom took the second shot.

_Jesus._ The irony. He’d been the one to hire Colonel Sanders and now he was trying to pin it on _him_?

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t me,” Ransom told her. “So you can chill the fuck out.”

Linda scoffed. “Chill the fuck out? Really? _Chill the fuck out_? My father is dead, Ransom. And—”

“He was my grandfather,” he cut her off. “I loved him too.”

“Did you?” Linda’s tone was curt. “Someone wanted him dead. Someone either _in_ our family or _close_ to our family.”

“And it could have been any of us,” Ransom told her. “Name one person in our whole goddamn family who didn’t have a reason.”

Again, the scoff. _Here was the part where she’s completely innocent._

“And what would my motive be Ransom?” Linda’s voice rose. “You honestly think I wanted my father dead?”

“Of course not you,” Ransom didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“But you,” she said, that pointing finger coming out, “ _you_ had a motive, didn’t you? He told you he was cutting _you_ out of the will.”

Ransom snickered at that. “Yeah, he told me he was cutting all of us out of his will. And that turned out to be true, didn’t it?”

“ _We_ didn’t know until the will was read, Ransom!” she was shouting now.

If that got his girl’s attention, he didn’t think his mother could hear her back there. He hoped not anyway.

Blowing out an exhale, Ransom studied her. He hadn’t seen her this upset at him since she thought he’d knocked up the daughter of one of her best real estate agents. Ransom hadn’t been so grateful for false alarms in his entire life. The girl had been a complete psycho.

“Okay, why am _I_ the prime suspect?” he wanted to know.

“You weren’t at the funeral,” Linda replied.

Ransom _did_ regret that. The locksmith had been late arriving and it had taken longer than he anticipated to secure the doors in the lake house. The window guy had been an even bigger pain in the ass the next day.

“That’s it?” he challenged her.

“You drove off with Marta after the will reading,” Linda went on. Before he could retort, she frowned. “Why did you do that?”

“Why are _you_ here?” he shot back. “Why are all of you in an uproar? Huh?”

Linda looked at him like he had two heads.

“Look, granddad is dead,” Ransom reasoned. “Nothing’s changing that now. But the money…”

Now he had her attention.

“I took off with Marta because, as of right now, she has everything,” Ransom told her. “Seemed like helping her was a chance at getting _my_ inheritance back.”

Rolling her eyes, Linda slung a hand on her hip. “Your inheritance. We’re a family, Ransom.”

“Yeah, a family that lectured me on how being cut out of the old man’s will would be good for me, remember?” Ransom shook his head. “Where was that sense of family then?”

“Did Marta tell you anything?” she demanded.

“She told me everything,” Ransom admitted. “I agreed to help her for my share. That was the deal.”

“And she agreed to that?”

Ransom nodded.

“Then you got taken in by the police and you tried to pin it all on her,” Linda said. “How did that work out for you?”

“I’m still not sure it isn’t Marta.” Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned back against the counter. “For all I know, she could have blown up the forensics lab and she could have killed Fran.”

Linda smirked at him. “And you had nothing to do with either of those incidents.”

“I didn’t,” he told her. “If I was honestly trying to help Marta to get my part of the money, why would I?”

“You could have done it to frame her,” Linda pointed out.

“And that would have helped the entire family, wouldn’t it?” Ransom shot back. “Instead, I was a selfish little shit out for myself. Isn’t that what you all think anyway? Doesn’t that make sense?”

He had her there and she knew it. She dropped her gaze.

“Ransom,” she said slowly. “Marta’s sister is missing.”

He was surprised it took her _this_ long to bring it up.

“You don’t know anything about that, do you?” his mother asked. “Because both Marta and Blanc are convinced that you’ve kidnapped her something.”

Ransom didn’t answer.

“As if you’d kidnap Marta’s sister,” Linda said with a snort, reaching into the purse on her shoulder for her cigarette case. As she pulled out a smoke and used her lighter, she glanced up at her son. “Please.”

_That_ pissed him off. Why wouldn’t he? His girl was fucking hot.

“With everything you think I’m capable of, you don’t think I’d do _that_?” Ransom wanted to know.

That stopped his mother cold.

“You didn’t.”

Ransom smirked at her, pouring a third shot.

Linda took a long drag from her cigarette, turning to dust her ashes in the sink behind her.

“Ransom,” she looked him in the eye. “Please tell me you’re joking. This is serious.”

“ _I’m_ serious,” he said, tossing back the third shot of alcohol.

“You took her?” Linda demanded.

“Took is a stretch,” Ransom told her, finally feeling the alcohol taking the edge off this conversation. “What if she’s with me willingly?”

“Jesus! Ransom!” His mother threw the cigarette in the stainless steel sink, marching up to him now. “If you kidnapped her—”

“Maybe she and I were seeing each other _before_ Granddad died,” Ransom suggested, holding that smirk.

“Marta thinks she’s scared of you,” Linda pointed out.

A suspicious thump came from down the hall.

_Fuck._ He needed to get rid of his mother.

“She got over it,” he told her as idly as he could manage.

“She’s here willingly?” Linda asked slowly.

_She will be._

Ransom nodded.

“You might try explaining that to her sister and that annoying detective,” his mother told him, poking his exposed chest with a bony finger.

“And why would I do that?” Ransom glared his mother down. “As long as she thinks her sister’s in danger, she’ll give me what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

“Twice my cut of the inheritance,” he said simply. “By close of business Friday.”

“Ransom,” his mother was losing patience. “We’re trying to figure out, as a family, how to nail her under the Slayer Rule to get it all back to us where it belongs and you’re doing that?”

“Granddad committed suicide,” Ransom reminded her.

“And Marta told him he was dying,” Linda said pointedly. “If she hadn’t, he’d still be alive. That’s got to be involuntary manslaughter. And if she caused his death, even inadvertently…”

“I’d love to help you,” he replied. “But as I recall, you were all too willing to gloat over the fact that you thought Harlan cut me out of his will. Why should I be willing to work with the family now?”

Blowing out an exasperated exhale, Linda nodded. “And if she renounces the inheritance?”

“I’ll have my money by then and I’m keeping it,” he told her. He meant it.

Linda’s gaze dropped to the floor. They both knew if Ransom pulled that off, the family wasn’t getting that money back from him.

Another suspicious thump from the back bathroom. Linda glanced up.

“What was that?” she asked.

Ransom shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly. “She’s working out,” he said, trying to sound bored.

“Marta didn’t know you two were…?”

Ransom shook his head even though it wasn’t exactly the truth. What Linda didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“And if she thinks you’re holding her sister hostage…”

“Maybe she’ll give back the money,” he offered. He honestly didn’t give a shit as long as he got what he wanted.

Linda shook her head. “That does the rest of us no good.”

Ransom shrugged.

“Unless… I could always try to confide in Marta… Tell her I’ll talk to you. Try to convince you to give her sister back.”

Oh, he could see the wheels turning in her head.

A _loud_ thump.

_Goddamn it!_

His mother had visions of dollar signs in her head. She didn’t even notice. He doubted that she actually cared whether Marta’s younger sister was here willingly or not. And that worked for him.

“We didn’t talk today,” she told him meaningfully.

“We didn’t?” Ransom asked.

“I have no idea where you are,” she went on. “I checked out the lake house and no one was here.”

Ransom nodded.

“Are Marta and her sister close?”

“Very.”

“If she agrees to renounce the inheritance, we give the girl back,” Linda offered.

That stopped him cold. _He_ hadn’t agreed to that. He wasn’t done with her yet.

“I’ll still want twice my cut,” he told her.

“Ransom, be serious,” his mother told him. “We could use this to get everything back.”

“Or, I can keep on with my plan and get twice my cut,” he stressed, “ _without_ you.”

“If you’re seeing each other,” Linda shot back, “you’re not losing her… Just get her to play along.”

As if it were that fucking easy.

“I’ll be in touch,” his mother told him, reaching up to brush a dry kiss on his cheek before she bustled out the kitchen door, on a mission now.

_Fuck._

Stalking into the living room, Ransom snatched up his phone. He’d sent the bank information to Marta. Twice. When he went to see if any new deposits had been made to his account, there was nothing.

Marta had four days.

Dropping onto the sofa, Ransom scrubbed a hand through his hair.

Everything was so fucked up.

His grandfather had disinherited him and given everything to Marta which set off the entire shitstorm to begin with. And there was a hole forming in his heart even so. He’d miss the old man.

_I’m sane for the first time in my life._

Harlan’s words echoed in his mind. How was _this_ sane? How was _any_ of it sane? With the threat of the money being taken away, his family would tear itself apart. And Ransom was fine with that. Truly. They’d all hated him for years. Even his own parents.

But he wouldn’t take the fall.

He didn’t conspire to take Harlan’s life. Someone in the family had tried to engineer an accidental overdose to kill him and hang it on Marta.

_Think._

With Marta being the scapegoat, it made Ransom wonder if someone else knew what Harlan planned to do. Had Harlan told someone besides _him_?

More thumping came from down the hall and he shook his head. His little pumpkin was giving it her best shot. He’d give her that.

At the moment, the only thing he was guilty of was hiring Foghorn Leghorn and taking off with his little pumpkin. And he was pretty confident that she’d be singing that it was consensual by the time he was forced to give her up. 

She _would_ love him.

Once he got his hands on his cut, what was to stop him from taking off? He didn’t need the fucking Thrombeys. He could learn to invest. If he were smart, he could set himself up. Live off the interest. It was so easy to see himself in some tropical location, taking in life with a few drinks, a different girl on his arm each night. Doing whatever the fuck he wanted as he always had.

Yet, when he went to think about that those girls and those carefree nights, all he could see was _her_.

Ransom loved the thought of getting the money, taking off with his pumpkin to some remote location, leaving it all behind.

First, he had to get the money.

***

That night, Marta snatched the phone up before she even looked at the screen to see who was calling.

“Marta?”

Linda Drysdale? Oh, this couldn’t be good.

“Marta, hi,” she said calmly. “It’s Linda. How are you doing?”

_You little bitch._

“Hi, Linda,” she said simply. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“I just… I wanted to apologize for everything.” Linda sounded sincere. “When the will was read, we were… all still reeling from losing my father and… we behaved horribly. I just wanted to apologize.”

She somewhat doubted that but what choice did she have but to go along with it?

“Thank you, Linda,” she replied. “I appreciate that.”

“I know you have a lot going on,” Linda went on. “I just wanted to say that and… Wait. How rude of me. Has there been any word on your sister?”

Marta’s heart began hammering in her chest at the mention of her sibling. She’d been worried sick. Her mother couldn’t sleep or eat. And on top of it, Marta had to deal with the fall out from inheriting Harlan’s estate and the detective’s campaign to unearth the person who wanted him dead. 

He was also trying to help her find Ransom and her sister.

The last couple of days had been a mad scramble to try to get through the paperwork, the legal issues, all of it. It wasn’t that she wanted the money. Any of it. But she _needed_ it. If she could give Ransom what he wanted, she could get her sister back. Then she’d deal with the rest of it.

“You there?” Linda buzzed in her ear.

“Yes, I’m here,” Marta stammered. “Well,” she didn’t know what she should say, “all I want is to… bring her home… She must be so scared…”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she thought about her sister, trapped by Ransom.

“I could, ah,” Linda said quietly. “I could talk to him… for you.”

Her heart slammed in her chest.

“What did you say?” Marta wanted to make sure she heard what she _thought_ she heard.

“I could talk to Ransom,” Linda offered. “I had no idea that he… I’m his mother, Marta. That’s got to count for something… Maybe I can reason with him.”

_Linda knew?_

“I just want her back,” Marta was blinking back tears, knew they were in her voice. “I want her to be okay.”

“Oh, honey, I know,” Linda said sweetly. “And I know my son. Ransom’s being a brat. He was so upset about being cut off by his grandfather… He wouldn’t hurt her.”

Marta wasn’t so sure.

“Why don’t we meet for lunch?” Linda kept pressing. “We can talk about everything. I’m sure we can reach some agreement, can’t we? We can get your sister back to you and your mother, settle all of this will nonsense, and go back to… go back to our lives…”

Marta needed to talk to Blanc. That Linda knew Ransom took her sister? And she wanted to meet to talk about _what_? Renouncing the inheritance to get her sister back?

And Marta would do it. She never wanted the money. But she wanted to be careful. She wanted a guarantee that her sister would be returned to her, no matter what else happened.

“When can we meet?” Linda continued insistently.

“Ah… can I call you back?” Marta asked. “I’m sorry. I have to go right now.”

“Marta, wait—”

Marta hung up. Immediately, she called the detective.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for him to pick up. But eventually, he did.

“Marta,” Blanc greeted. “Has something happened?”

***

Blanc listened to Marta describe her call from Linda Drysdale. That Ransom’s mother now knew that he had Marta’s sister was an interesting play. As he listened to the young woman tearfully go over everything that was said, he studied the copies of the receipts in his lap.

“Marta, I’m not certain I believe that Ransom is in cahoots with his mother on absconding with your sister,” he explained. “I would guess that she has been in contact with her son and now knows that he has her. But his bargain was only money for himself. His mother means to try and use this situation to try and get you to renounce your inheritance in exchange for your sister. I’m disinclined to believe that her freedom is something Linda Drysdale has it in her power to offer you.”

Sniffling. The poor girl has been through hell. 

“You’re right. Until I hear otherwise from Ransom…”

“Until you hear otherwise from _him_ , go ahead and proceed with your plan.” Benoit didn’t think trying to get him the money as he wanted was the best idea but he wasn’t her advisor. He was a detective trying to discern the true circumstances behind Harlan Thrombey’s death.

“In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out,” he told her. “I’d avoid talking to the other Drysdales and Thrombeys for the time being.”

“Okay,” she told him, sounding a little less wrecked. “I will.”

“Call me back if you need anything,” he told her. “Good night, Marta.”

“Good night.”

Scrubbing a hand down in his face, Benoit slumped in the driver’s seat of his rented car. Using the small Maglite he carried, he reviewed the receipts he’d been able to hunt down.

Ransom Drysdale had an alibi for the funeral.

Online receipts from a local locksmith put the worker sent by the company here at the lakefront property owned by the family on the day of the funeral. At the _time_ of the funeral. And the receipt was signed by one Ransom Drysdale.

The signature looked authentic.

Without a court order, he wasn’t able to get details on what services were performed at this residence, but it had his curiosity up. A locksmith’s services acquired mere days before kidnapping someone? That seemed textbook.

There were no signs of a vehicle at the residence, but he’d need to look around. There were no lights on. With a deep sigh, Benoit climbed out of the car with his light to do a little looking around.

***

You watched with wide eyes as the detective got out of the car, parked under a tree just outside. Two cameras picked him up, showing his movements in the display of the security system as the man moved closer to the house.

Ransom sat watching him, clearly agitated. It was in the tense lines of his body from where he sat at the desk in from of the computer monitor.

The room just housed the security system and it was maybe the size of a walk-in closet. It might have once _been_ a closet with its dark paneling and lack of windows. The door was shut and locked. Ransom had brought a bath towel with you into the room, shoving it against the bottom of the door to keep any light from showing.

And it was cold. It was mid-November in New England outside and it didn’t feel a lot warmer where you sat.

It could be that you were bound to a chair behind him, only wearing a dusky pink negligee with a short slip of a matching robe over it. He’d duct-taped your wrists to the side of the chair at your sides. He’d used the robe’s sash around your head as a gag.

You were sore from him claiming your body the night before and this morning. And from pounding on the bathroom door earlier because you were certain you’d heard someone talking to him in the kitchen. You’d thought if you could let someone know you were here – against your will – maybe you’d be rescued faster. Maybe you’d be saved.

The man you recognized as Benoit Blanc was looking in the windows now with his flashlight.

“Aggravating asshole,” Ransom muttered.

You yanked at your bonds. You had to _try_. If you could somehow get free and make it out to him…

Ransom spun in the office chair, his gaze moving over you.

_Shit._ You hadn’t meant to draw his attention.

Ransom had been preoccupied most of the day. He’d left you in the bathroom for a couple of hours. Once you realized no one could hear you, you’d showered, dressed in your robe. He’d let you back into the bedroom, brought you the leftovers from last night he’d warmed for lunch, but he hadn’t eaten with you. Hadn’t answered your questions about who he’d been talking to earlier.

You’d asked for your purse and he’d given it to you, without your phone just like he said. When you asked for your clothes, he gave you what you were wearing now.

And when he’d rushed in to grab you like the devil himself was on his heels, you didn’t know whether to be frightened or excited. With an efficiency you wouldn’t have expected, you found yourself trussed up exactly where you were now.

Only now those blue eyes were moving over you heatedly. Ransom rolled the chair closer to you, his hands warm as he slid them over your bare knees.

“We’ve got to be quiet, pumpkin,” Ransom whispered. “Can you be quiet for me?”

Did you have a choice? You nodded. As anxious as he’d seemed today, you didn’t want to upset him.

“Good,” he whispered. “You’re a good girl… So good for me.”

One hand skimmed up to cover one of your breasts while the other rose to your neck, pulling your head gently to the side. His mouth was a hot press just below your ear, making you shiver. Ransom chuckled, a rich sound in your ear.

While his mouth teased your neck and ear, his other hand tested the weight of your breast in his hand before rising to slide the robe off that shoulder, to pluck the thin strap of the negligee off your shoulder to reveal one breast, its nipple a tight little tip from the chill.

He hummed against your neck as his hand covered that breast, his fingers teasing the hard bud in a way that you felt deep in your core. Your thighs squeezed together, your body betraying you for his touch.

Ransom teased you for long moments, making you squirm in the chair and making you long to sink into the warmth of him. He was wearing a navy sweater and jeans, the heat of him so enticing as he tormented you. When he dipped his head to your chest, you sucked in a breath, your teeth tightening around your gag. His lips burned a path from the center of your chest to the breast still covered, nuzzling his way into the flimsy lingerie until his lips covered your neglected nipple. When he began teasing you with his tongue, you had to fight not to make a sound.

And the bastard _knew_ it. Looking up at you, the amusement was clear in those sharp blue eyes. He made it worse when his hands slid down over your hips to your thighs, pressing them apart. You tried to clamp them together, but he easily prevented that, his fingers sliding the short hem of the negligee up to reveal all of you to him because he hadn’t given you panties.

“Guess I’m going to have to find us another hiding place,” he told you, lowering himself out of the chair and onto his knees in front of you. “Not that this isn’t fun…”

His fingers slid higher up on your inner thighs and he used his forearms to push them wider. You tried to squirm free of him, but he truly had you cornered.

“I’m going to take you apart,” he whispered, “and you’re going to be nice and quiet for me… or I won’t let you come.”

Your core tightened just contemplating all the reactions he could pull effortlessly from your body. He could shake you to your core so easily and within moments have you back on the edge, tense and wanting.

“Watch the cameras for me, pumpkin,” he whispered. “If you see him trying to break in, let me know.”

_Oh, God._

With a strong hand at your lower back, he pushed your hips forward on the chair. Then he dove for you with his mouth.

You couldn’t help the first moan, you really couldn’t, because he dove in, his tongue immediately zeroing in on your clit in a way that had your body tensed up and focused on that wicked sensation.

“Shhh,” he whispered into your intimate flesh before continuing until you thought you would lose your mind. His tongue stayed busy in your folds, melting away the chill that had plagued you before. Oh, no. Now you were burning up, struggling against the chair, his hold, as he worked you with his mouth until you were certain you were going to shatter.

You tried to watch the camera, you really did, but you were close… _so close_ … and just as you spied the detective wandering around the front of the house, looking in the windows, Ransom sent you sailing over the edge. You cried out behind the gag, a pitiful muffled sound. Ransom didn’t slow down. He just kept eating you out, teasing your bundle of nerves relentlessly with his tongue.

When the detective reached the garage, Ransom slid a finger into you, still working you with his mouth in a way that was too much, too soon. He seemed to sense your distress, his dark head lifting and those eyes smoldering up at you.

You shook your head at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stop as you panted behind the gag.

“Still watching the camera for me?” he asked, your juices shining on his lips obscenely.

You nodded weakly.

“Is he trying to break in here?”

You shook your head.

“Good girl,” he whispered before returning to his work.

That finger never left you, never stopped searching for that trigger inside that could blow you apart. By the time he had a second finger in your channel, you really fought to close yourself to him but he held you in place with little effort.

Pulling his fingers back, he began to fuck you with his tongue, and you fought to keep your gaze on the camera, fought to focus on anything but what he was doing to you. The teasing motions made you crazy, made you crave another part of him to ease the emptiness inside you.

_What was wrong with you?_

When his fingers returned, they found that trigger and that was all it took. You howled behind the gag, struggling on the chair as the release hit you hard and fast. Ransom lapped at you, kept you balanced on his tongue and fingers to draw it out until you couldn’t breathe, until you thought you’d pass out.

Ransom moved quickly around you then, slicing through the tape securing your wrists, taking down his jeans. You were in no state to fight him as he positioned you over him where he sat on the floor, lowering you onto his cock until he couldn’t go further.

Your body shuddered in craving around him, your walls fluttering around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his hands moving you up and down on him as you struggled to just stay upright. “You’re being so good for me.”

You’d planted your hands on his shoulders, shreds of silver tape still hanging from them. How he filled you was just what you wanted, what you _needed_ after he’d built up that terrible craving within you.

It didn’t take much for him to have you tensed up and desperate again, your fingers clutched in his hair. His lips closed around one of your nipples as he began thrusting up into you harder, faster. Ransom reached up to pull the gag away, to claim your mouth in a dirty kiss that was all teeth and tongue. His mouth was claiming yours when you came apart around his cock and he took those tiny cries into his mouth, moaning deeply as he reached his own end.

You sank against him, fighting to breathe as pulses of pleasure shot all through you. He was so warm, the sweater so soft against your skin. His arms wrapped around you as he panted into your hair, holding you.

It was all you could do to pull your head up, searching the camera angles for the detective. You spotted him, wandering back to his car and climbing inside. Ransom was still holding you as you watched him drive away.


	5. Chapter 5

The day before Friday, the day Ransom expected money from his grandfather’s fortune from Marta to be placed into his bank account was Thanksgiving.

And you were feeling homesick in the worst way. Tomorrow you should be home with Marta and your mother, enjoying Thanksgiving dinner.

Sure, you did the traditional American fare, but you also threw in some dishes from your mother’s heritage. The three of you spent all day cooking, the scents and warmth of the kitchen one of the best parts of the holiday for you. You’d watch the parade on TV while you worked in the kitchen. You had dinner once the sun went down and if you had money left over, you kind of went all out on dinner, the three of you would go see a movie.

Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. You were in bougie hotel suite in Providence. With Ransom who seemed preoccupied and brooding.

You felt so many things as you sat in the padded window seat of the bedroom, staring out at the city. It was a beautiful view. 

You missed your mother and sister. You were really trying hard to understand why Marta hadn’t gotten the money and just given it to Ransom yet. Arranged to bring you home and get you away from him. Why couldn’t that happen today? You could be home for the holiday with them _where you belonged_.

You were also worried about Ransom’s state of mind. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the man had never really had to fend for himself. He’d always had money from his family. When his grandfather cut him out of his will, he left Ransom’s life in shambles. With his basic survival threatened, you understood why he’d acted as he had. When one’s survival was threatened, it could be a great motivator. It could drive people to desperate acts.

Like kidnapping you. Like taking you against your will. Like holding you for ransom until your sister gave him part of the money Harlan Thrombey wanted her to have.

And then there was the underlying fear. Was Ransom the one behind his grandfather’s untimely death? Had he arranged for Marta to poison the kind old man? If he had, were _you_ in danger?

You heard his deep sigh behind you as he walked into the bedroom.

“You ever been to Providence before, pumpkin?” Ransom sounded as tired as you felt.

“No,” your voice sounded small to your own ears. “It’s beautiful… Not as beautiful as home but…”

He scoffed. “Not as beautiful as your shithole apartment?”

You huffed out an exhale.

“To you, it’s a shithole,” you told him, feeling tears coming on. “To me, it’s home.”

Ransom was quiet for a long moment. It gave you a beat to gather your courage, to swipe at the tears spilling from your eyes with the backs of your hands.

“You’ve never answered me,” you began slowly. “When Marta gets you the money, you’ll give me back, right?”

Again, no answer.

“You said you weren’t going to kill me,” you reminded him, turning to face him from the window. “You can’t _keep_ me… You have to give me back to my family, Ransom.”

His gaze locked with yours, a dark storm of emotion brewing in them. _Hostility. Superiority._

Something softer. Something that made you pause.

“What makes you so sure?” Ransom shot back at you.

You couldn’t even begin to understand him. The tears that stung the backs of your eyes were anger but you held his gaze.

“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving,” you told him.

Ransom stood there in his cream-colored sweater, shrugging as if to say “so.”

“That means something to _me,_ ” you tried to explain.

His dark brows shot up. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” your voice rose. “It’s a holiday I usually get to enjoy in my _home_ with my family. I’d like to spend tomorrow the same way… So can you call Marta? Please? Let me talk to her… She’ll get you the money and you can send me home. And this? _This_ can be over… Please? I won’t say anything, Ransom.”

Ransom’s gaze dropped, his brow lowered.

_Why the fuck didn’t he answer you? What was going on in his head?_

“Why won’t you answer me?” You hated the tears in your voice.

At that, Ransom’s gaze met yours. “You’re that anxious to be away from me?”

You almost blurted _yes_. Almost. Something in his expression, some emotion in his eyes stopped you cold.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you had to ask.

Ransom huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

There was something beneath the surface. Something… Ransom schooled his expression into something like the usual haughty face he put on. You just weren’t buying it.

“You don’t want to be alone?” you guessed.

Those blue eyes narrowed on you.

“For Thanksgiving?” you quickly added, trying to make it better.

Blowing out a heavy exhale, Ransom didn’t look away. “I don’t really give a shit about Thanksgiving.”

He was trying to look bored, but his eyes betrayed him.

“How did the Thrombeys celebrate it anyway?” you asked carefully.

The question caught him off guard, you could feel it. His expression softened, he folded his arms across the impressive expanse of his chest.

“Like they do everything else,” he told you matter-of-factly. “Everyone comes home and has Thanksgiving at my grandad’s. Not a lot different from Easter. You were there for that. They have dinner. They drink. They go from being obnoxious assholes to being bigger obnoxious assholes. Then we all start fighting.”

You did remember Easter. If you hadn’t been so concerned with avoiding Ransom, you might have paid closer attention. Harlan was kind and patient. With his family, he _had_ to be. Maybe that was why he was so fond of Marta. From that point of view, him leaving her his fortune would make sense.

You remembered Walt and Richard fighting, both of them trying to pick fights with Harlan. You remembered Linda and Donna trading smartass remarks and both of them going out of their way to ignore Joni. Meg wasn’t bad. She’d at least made an effort to speak to you and Marta liked her. Jacob? No.

It made you sad when you thought about it. Ransom had no siblings. Well, neither did Jacob or Meg for that matter. But there was a big age gap between them and Ransom. He’d been stuck there as a kid with the adult Thrombeys acting like they normally did. It was no wonder that he didn’t like Thanksgiving.

Not like you did. And you’d give anything to be home tomorrow for it.

As if he read your mind, Ransom smirked at you. “You want me to call Marta? Let’s see when she’s getting me my money.”

“And then—”

“Don’t fucking say it again,” Ransom glared at you. “You want me to answer you? All I told Marta was that you were my insurance policy. As long as I got my cut of the inheritance, you stay safe and happy… Giving you back was never part of that deal, pumpkin.”

Those blue eyes were glacier cold on you as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap flip phone that looked like your first phone ten years ago. You watched that phone in his hand with a desperation that permeated your entire being. If you could just get that phone, call your sister…

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you said even as you began to shake on the window seat.

“What would you do to get this phone, pumpkin?” The corners of his mouth curled up, the smile not reaching his eyes.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared at it. You knew he’d never give it to you. You knew he was just toying with you. It was one of his favorite things to do.

“Tell me,” he purred, rising from the chair.

You swallowed hard as he moved closer to you. “How do I know you’d actually give it to me?” you asked in an unsteady voice.

“You don’t,” he explained. “But if I like your answer, I’ll think about it.”

If he’d let you call Marta, what if? What if this could be resolved by tomorrow? What if you could be home for Thanksgiving? You knew Marta and your mother were probably worried sick.

“What do you want?” you asked even though you _knew_ what he wanted.

Ransom chuckled. “That doesn’t answer _my_ question. What would you do to get this phone?”

As his gaze slid over you, his gaze darkening, you shook your head. You knew what he wanted but you couldn’t say it.

Ransom said the most outrageous things. He’d tell you exactly what he’d do to you in dirty detail. Tell you what he wanted you to do in no uncertain terms.

You couldn’t say those things. You just couldn’t…

Smug and strutting like he owned the world, Ransom turned his back to you. Marching to the huge king-sized bed, he took a seat at the end of it. The phone was clutched in his hand and he sat there with his thighs spread, staring you down. Daring you to make a move.

“Can’t say it, pumpkin?” He knew you couldn’t. “ _Show me_.”

On shaking legs, you rose from the window seat. 

Ransom shook his head, pointing at the floor with a wicked smirk.

Shame washed over you as you slowly dropped to your knees and began to crawl to him across the plush white carpeting of the suite’s bedroom. You didn’t meet his gaze as you crawled to where he sat, situating yourself between his legs before rising on your knees before him.

His gaze was heated as it moved over your face, focused on your mouth.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Like you were afraid he’d burn you, you pressed your hands to his chest, lightly clutching at the cream-colored sweater he wore. Somehow, shaking as you were, you pressed your lips to his gently, carefully. His lips were warm, soft. When he did respond, you tried harder, moving your lips over his while you pressed yourself closer to him. The sandalwood tones of the scent he wore teased your senses as you kissed him.

When you slid your tongue out to tease that full lower lip, Ransom groaned. You felt that deep rumble all the way down to your core. Your thighs squeezed together as you slid your tongue along the seam of his lips. When his lips parted, you slid your tongue against his, taking your time, tasting _him_. The dark essence of the bourbon he’d been drinking blended with the taste that was uniquely him. You didn’t realize that you were pressing yourself into him, one hand wrapped around his neck and holding him there.

That kiss wasn’t something he took from you. It was _you_ kissing _him_ and Ransom didn’t fight you, didn’t try to take over. His hands remained on the bed at his sides while your own fumbled down to find the hem of his sweater, slid up under it. Your fingertips brushed over his abs, up to the muscular expanse of his chest. Your fingers sought out his nipples, teasing them until they tightened to your touch. All the while you kissed him like you couldn’t get enough, enjoying the freedom to explore him.

You broke off the kiss with a gasp. You needed to breathe and were gratified that he was as breathless as you. Like it was on fire, you were hauling that damned sweater up his torso, wanting it off him. _Now._ Ransom was all too happy to help pull it off, discarding it on the floor next to the bed.

When your lips pressed to one of his nipples, he groaned again. You lashed it with your tongue, nipped at it with your teeth. _Oh._ When you did that, his hips bucked up against you. His cock was a hard, heated press against you, and he was starting to move with urgency. But you played at his chest for a few moments, enjoying his reactions. The sounds you could draw from him.

You chained kisses up to his shoulder, across to his neck. You spent time exploring the long column of his neck, finding the spaces that made him pause. Then you focused on them until his hands left the bed to clutch in your hair.

When his strong hands firmly pushed your head down, what he wanted was pretty unmistakable. You’d just never done it before. Ransom pressed your face into the front of his slacks, grinding himself into your face once, then twice. You allowed it, taking in the heat and scent of him, your shaking fingers working the front of those slacks to open them.

“You’ve never had a cock in your mouth, have you pumpkin?”

Glancing up through your lashes at him, you saw Ransom’s face flush with color. Those blue eyes were smoldering, watching with great interest as you pulled down the zipper and pulled his slacks open. He pushed them and his boxers down and off for you while the long, erect stalk of his cock greeted you, twitching in excitement along his abdomen.

“Have you?” His voice was husky, and you knew by now that the idea that you’d never given anyone a blowjob before turned him on. Something about being your first anything seemed to drive him wild.

You dropped your gaze, shaking your head.

Ransom hummed, taking your hand in his and guiding you to wrap your fingers around him. He moved your hand up and down his cock. He was pulsing in your hand. Ransom’s eyes squeezed shut as he huffed out a breath. He looked like he was fighting for control of himself.

“Like that,” he showed you. Grabbing your other hand, he guided it to his balls and showed you how to touch him there, how to roll them in your fingers with a certain level of pressure. His balls were smooth, shaved, the wrinkled skin so soft beneath your fingertips.

After a few moments, Ransom was still guiding your hand up and down his shaft. He moved to tap the swollen head of his cock against your lips.

“Put that gorgeous mouth on me,” he whispered harshly.

You started by pressing your lips to the head, exploring that sensitive flesh in a way that had his eyes shut tight. When your lips spread and you let your tongue slide over that helmet, tease over his slit, his hips began to move. He was fighting to keep still.

Getting a reaction from _him_ was a heady experience. After teasing him for a few moments, you pulled the head of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him as you did.

“Fuck,” Ransom muttered, his hips still jerking.

Your hand still worked the shaft of him, your other hand still delicately teasing his sac the way he showed you.

“Take me further… into your mouth, pumpkin,” Ransom struggled to speak, and it did a lot for your confidence. “Your mouth is fucking heaven… You know that?”

That had your thighs squeezing together, had your mind blanking out with the sheer will to please him. Your gaze met his as you let him slide further into your mouth, keeping your tongue moving and enjoying watching him struggle.

“Fuck yeah,” he whispered harshly. “Just like that… You’re so fucking good… And you never did this before…”

It wasn’t easy to shake your head with his cock nearing the back of your throat, but you managed.

Ransom’s smile was downright triumphant.

“Never learned to share,” he whispered, his hand on your head urging you to take more of him as you fought against your gag reflex. “Never _liked_ to share… Never had a girl that no one else touched before…”

When the head of him reached the back of your throat you gagged, tried to pull back. Ransom held your head there.

“Relax, baby,” he whispered. “Relax your throat… let me in…”

Breathing through your nose, you did just that, taking his cock back as far as you could, letting his hand guide you in working what wouldn’t fit in your mouth with your hand.

Ransom began to work himself into your mouth with quick, strokes. You held still for him, keeping your mouth open and swiping at him with your tongue. It wasn’t lost on you that Ransom was seeking release, holding you there in a way that could have made you feel used.

Just when you thought he’d come down your throat, and you braced for it, he pulled himself free of your mouth.

“Let me call… my sister,” you panted, staring him down. You had to try.

Ransom struggled to breathe, considering your demand.

“Maybe I could be home by tomorrow,” you reasoned.

Ransom shook his head. “Banks are closed. The soonest… I’d get the money, even if she deposited it today… would be Friday.”

_Fuck._ Bitter tears pricked at your eyes to realize you wouldn’t make it home for Thanksgiving.

“But you’d let me go?” your voice was small.

Ransom glared at you.

_Okay._ “Please… just let me call Marta.”

“I want more,” he said roughly, looking ready to grab for you.

You leaned away from him, realizing he was naked before you while you were dressed for once.

“So do I,” you admitted.

When Ransom’s gaze dangerously darkened, and he looked ready to literally devour you, you stayed him by holding up a hand.

“I want Thanksgiving,” you told him with determination. “I want to come as close to it as I can… under the circumstances.”

Ransom stared at you in disbelief for a moment as he took himself in hand and began working himself with a hand. Then he started to laugh. If anything, that throaty laughter only made you more determined. 

“You want to call Marta… _and_ you want Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want. And I don’t mean going to some snobby restaurant… I want to make Thanksgiving dinner… right here if I can’t be home.”

Ransom was flushed, looked wrecked. His eyes were fever bright as they moved over you with greed.

“Oh, pumpkin, I’m going to want something extra for _that_ ,” he warned you.

He wasn’t saying _no_.

“What do you want, Ransom?” You weren’t going to leave it open-ended with him. You _knew_ better. “I’d be making Thanksgiving dinner for _you_.”

Ransom’s grin was decidedly wicked.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said matter-of-factly. “Whenever I want. _However_ I want.”

You were already shaking your head. “I don’t… no… “

His brows shot up, those sky-blue eyes shining in undisguised glee. He was _so_ close to getting what he wanted from you.

“No… anal,” you said quietly.

He chuckled at that. “Anything else?”

You swallowed hard, feeling like you shouldn’t make this bargain with him. _What were you doing?_ Wouldn’t it be better to skip Thanksgiving this year?

“I don’t like pain,” you whispered.

Ransom continued to stroke himself, his predatory grin making you uneasy.

“For how long?” You asked quickly before he started making decisions.

“Stroke of midnight tomorrow,” Ransom told you. “When Thanksgiving ends.”

_Jesus._ But being able to call Marta was looped into it all now. He could take that back.

“When can I call Marta?” you wanted to know.

“You can call her to wish her a happy Thanksgiving,” he whispered heatedly. “Tomorrow.”

And just like that, the negotiations were over. Your world spun as Ransom grabbed you and slung you onto the bed. You watched him warily as he dashed off the bed, heading back towards the living room area of the suite to dig into the black duffel bag he’d brought with him. Your heart lurched a little when you saw the nylon cord clutched in one hand, a knife in the other.

You curled up, inching away from him as he climbed on the bed and crawled towards you. His cock was still hard, angry red. Bobbing with his movements.

_What had you just agreed to?_

“Wh-what are you doing?” Your voice shook, your body was starting to.

“A little bit of rope play,” Ransom told you, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down the bed to him. Your shoes flew off the side of the bed. Your socks going just as quickly.

“R-ransom? I don’t know…” You really didn’t. It had been scary enough when he’d tied you to the bed your first time.

“You agreed, pumpkin,” he chided you. “The sooner you let me do it, the sooner you can make that grocery list.”

_Groceries?_ He’d actually let you make dinner?

He was rough when he pulled off your jeans, your panties with them. Taking a deep breath, you tried to keep your calm. Within seconds he had you naked, cowering in his shadow on the bed.

When he grabbed your wrist and hauled you towards the headboard, you tried to pull away on instinct. Ransom draped himself over you, working with the efficiency of a SWAT team to secure that wrist to the bed. You gaped at the binding as he moved to the other wrist. The cord wasn’t wrapped so tight that it hurt but it had little give.

“Y-you’ve done this before?” you asked, barely hearing yourself over the hammering of your heart.

“I’ve always enjoyed it,” Ransom said casually as if he were discussing a game of golf. “But with _you_?”

Sitting up on his knees to smile down at you, arms bound above your head with little give, Ransom smoothed a hand up over one of your breasts.

“I love the big-eyed way you’re watching me,” he admitted. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you… and you sure as shit don’t trust me.”

_Don’t hurt me._

When he went for your ankle next, you were trying to pull free of his grip. “Wait! Ransom—”

It only seemed to fuel his enthusiasm and he managed to tie down your legs pretty quickly. Your legs had a little more give. But as you struggled in the rope, you found you couldn’t bring your thighs together. You could barely bend your knees.

Ransom hummed in contentment, situating himself between your legs looking like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do first.

“All for me,” he muttered, more for himself than you.

Crawling up over you, Ransom claimed your mouth in a kiss that started out gentle but got rough and dirty quick. You just tried to keep up as his hands skimmed up your torso, up to slide over your breasts. Being tied up was new to you and you struggled in your bonds beneath him.

Your struggles only seemed to excite him more. He pawed at you rough enough to get your attention but not hard enough to hurt. His mouth was delicate by contrast, lips and tongue teasing over the sensitive flesh of your neck, making wet trails down to your breasts. His mouth and hands teased your breasts for long minutes. He didn’t let up until your nipples hurt, small hard points that ached for more.

Ransom moved down your body then and you tensed, watching his mouth pressed heated kisses down your ribs, over your tummy. Planting his hands on either side of your hips, you watched as he lowered his head. When he pressed his mouth into the wet, heated flesh between your thighs, you really fought the cords that held you. You couldn’t close your thighs to stop him. No matter how you moved, his mouth was still on you, his tongue darting out to lash at your clit.

The amusement in those baby blue eyes as he looked up at you through those long lashes let you know he planned your predicament. When he groaned against you, you felt it all through your core until you couldn’t tell if you were writhing to get away from him or trying to get closer to his mouth.

Planting those big hands on the insides of your thighs, he pushed them wider until the ropes wouldn’t allow you to move further. And then he ate you out like a man possessed. That greedy mouth teased and pulled at your clit one moment, sliding down to fuck you with his tongue in the next. You couldn’t anticipate what he’d do next and you struggled to breathe, fighting your bonds as he drowned you in pleasure.

You came on his tongue hard. When he got his fingers in you, you _really_ fought to move, howling when his fingers found a spot in you that had you exploding

“Shhh,” Ransom whispered, moving back up to drape himself over you, his weight pushing you into the bed and restricting what little range of movement he allowed you to have. “We’ve got neighbors, pumpkin. We don’t want to draw attention, do we?”

One large hand covered your mouth while the other pushed him into you, making you gasp as he sank into you easily. Your body was humming, wet and aching. The intimate taste and smell of you were on his fingers, on your face as he kept your quiet.

Ransom was in no hurry as he swirled his hips, buried so deep in you.

“Love you like this,” he whispered hotly in your ear, teasing the lobe with his tongue. “All spread out for me… ready for whatever I want.”

His thrusts were shallow at first, slow.

“You’ve got me so fucking hard,” he told you. “That perfect little pussy wrapped around me…”

You clenched around him hard, your body weeping at the praise despite your mind screaming in protest.

For long moments, he just held you there. Your moans were muffled under his hand as he slid in and out of you, his movements firm and deep. All the while he called you his good girl. He told you how tight and juicy your pussy was. He told you how much he loved you taking his cock.

You almost came from his words alone and each time, your intimate walls clutched around him like a vice.

When his thrusts began to gain speed, you struggled in the ropes but for a different reason. You wanted to wrap your arms around him. You wanted to hang on. Instead, you were pinned beneath his weight, feeling the hard intrusion of him moving roughly inside while you lay helpless beneath him.

When he angled his thrusts to hit your spot, you screamed under his hand as the orgasm shook you like a rag doll. Ransom’s other hand slid between you, his fingers working your clit until you thought you’d pass out, unsure if he’d prolonged your orgasm or pushed you into another. You cried out, you begged into the palm of his hand.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” he warned you, his thrusts rough and fast as he rode you hard.

Your eyes squeezed shut as he pounded you into the bed, his thrusts jerking and falling out of rhythm as he found his own release, pumping himself inside you, groaning into your ear.

Slowly, Ransom lifted his head, pulled his hand away from your mouth. When his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was soft, patient, you struggled to get control of your emotions.

Your heart raced in your chest. His loving had been scary and exhilarating, all at the same time. You were so far beyond your pitiful experience that tears gathered in your eyes, sliding out of their corners.

Ransom gazed down at you, collecting your tears on a thumb and smiling. He was still inside you.

“Feel up to making that grocery list?” he asked in a softer tone than he normally used with you.

You nodded, trying to blink away the tears. _You’d liked it. His tying you to his bed had excited you._

_What was wrong with you?_

Ransom eased off you, so careful as he freed you from the cords. Tossing you his sweater to put on, he fished his boxers out of the floor and pulled them on. The sweater was huge on you, swallowing you and smelling just like him. Of course, you did too. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling his release seeping out of you while you watched him pull on his slacks.

“Let me find something to write the list on,” he told you.

You just nodded, barely holding yourself upright after he’d worked you over so thoroughly.

Just barely holding yourself together emotionally against the storm of conflicting things the handsome asshole made you feel.

***

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Benoit Blanc drawled at the hotel employee who’d darted out the door.

He’d managed to almost knock the poor fellow down, a page of hotel stationery filled with black ink falling from his hand. Picking up what appeared to be a list for the grocer, he scanned it quickly. The handwriting was indeed Ransom Drysdale’s.

The grocery list? Well, that part had him curious. But some of the ingredients? The plantains, the adobo seasoning blend? Well, that didn’t sound like something Ransom would request at all.

“Here you go,” Benoit handed the list back to the young man who looked shaken. “Are you alright?”

The younger man nodded his head, took the list before speeding off into the night.

Benoit glanced up at the ritzy hotel building with the dying light of the sun reflecting off it. Ransom was here. Marta’s sister was here.

He had some plans to make.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This story follows the film up until Benoit Blanc tells the family Marta will keep the inheritance and before the big reveal. This is going in a different direction. I took inspiration from one of the deleted scenes. You can find those here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsVKjfve2WM

Ransom slept in the next morning, stretching before grabbing his phone off the nightstand.

_Fuck, it’s after 11._

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised that his little pumpkin was already up, already at it. He could hear her shuffling around in the suite’s kitchen, could hear what he guessed was the damned Macy’s Day Parade on the TV out there.

Ransom shook his head. Why was Thanksgiving such a big fucking deal? She wanted to spend a good portion of the day cooking and watching a parade on TV? What was the draw?

Rolling onto her pillow, he breathed in the scent of her. He was used to having her when he woke up in the morning and considering their bargain, he wasn’t happy having that little routine disrupted.

He smiled as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed, fishing his boxers out of the floor. She’d agreed to whatever he wanted sexually until midnight, and he knew _just_ what he wanted right now. He wanted her to learn the joys of being on top, of riding his cock until she exhausted herself. Then, once she’d had her fun, he’d take it from there.

Ransom intended to march in there and haul her back to bed caveman style to do just that. He really did.

And she didn’t notice him at first when he wandered in. No, she was busy chopping away at something, bowls and steaming pots all around her in the kitchen. Her gaze kept darting to the huge-ass balloons held by ropes in the parade on the wide TV screen while enthusiastic crowds in the freezing cold cheered like morons.

_Jesus._

Folding his arms across his chest, he watched her for a minute, slowly recognizing something he hadn’t seen the entire time he’d known her.

She looked _happy_.

It wasn’t the smug, snarky happy he saw on his mother’s face every time she reminded her husband that she was more successful than he was. It wasn’t the vindictive glee his Uncle Walt displayed every time he thought he got one on fucking anybody because he was that type of petty asshole.

It was _real_. It was Hallmark movie real.

There she was, working away doing something she _wanted_ to do. Her bright eyes were wide in excitement, the lines of her body were relaxed. How had he not noticed how graceful the slope of her neck was before? With her hair pulled back and his blue cashmere sweater on over her jeans and under an apron she’d found, she looked content in a way that had his heart squeezing in his chest.

Ransom stayed still at the edge of the kitchen, wanting to watch her a little longer.

A couple hundred bucks worth of groceries and a TV parade was all it took? Huh.

Finally, she did spot him. He watched the tension pull strings in her body, watched the wariness cloud her eyes.

It reminded him of his whole fucking life. It was rare he personally earned the gentleness in anyone’s face. Impatience? Anger? Irritation? Hate? If people didn’t automatically look at him with one of those emotional sidekicks, it didn’t usually take long until they did.

“Ransom?” Those big eyes were on him as the knife in her hand stilled. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t mean it the way he wished she did. She cared how he was doing, sure. But only because she watched his moods. When he got frustrated with the entire process involving her sister and the money, he swore sometimes she looked ready to run screaming from the room.

Maybe he’d earned that.

Ransom couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have her look at him with the contentment he just chased away. His heart broke a little thinking it wasn’t likely he’d ever _get_ that, even if he did keep her.

So he slipped the mask back on, wandered closer to where she worked. She watched him warily as he approached.

“How’s it going?” he kept his tone casual.

She nodded, tried to smile. “Good. Thank you… for this.”

Ransom nodded, not giving a damn about her gratitude.

“You want to help me?”

She said it so quietly he almost didn’t make out what she said.

“You want me to cook?” Ransom smirked at her, played his role. “Me?”

Her gaze dropped and she shook her head. “Never mind,” she muttered as she got back to cutting up potatoes.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Ransom scoffed. “Fucking fine… I’ll do it.”

“You don’t… have to,” she said behind him.

He was already heading back for the bedroom to get dressed. He didn’t have a fucking clue how to cook anything. He had no idea what she was going to have him doing and he’d probably hate every bit of it.

Still, the offer had him pulling on jeans and a Henley before heading back out to the kitchen. Ransom swore that was hope in her eyes as he returned, and it had his cold heart beating just a little bit faster.

Ransom didn’t miss the way her eyes widened when he stalked back into the kitchen. He enjoyed doing things people didn’t anticipate, bonus points if he could make them uncomfortable. But that wasn’t what he was going for with her.

That was how he ended up chopping up celery and onions for stuffing. They worked side by side at the island in the center of the kitchen, and he would have resented having practically none of her attention while the damn parade was on.

But some truly flamboyant singer hopped off a parade float and performed a song. Ransom smirked as he watched her sway and sing along to the song under her breath. Was she a good dancer? Could she sing? He knew the minute he said anything she’d get embarrassed and stop so he just went along with his chopping task, trying not to cut off a fucking finger while watching her ass.

His pumpkin was so _damned_ cute.

She wasn’t dressed out in a look she saw in some vapid fashion magazine. She hadn’t been wearing makeup the entire time. Didn’t need it. The natural beauty of her had appealed to him since he saw her, he realized.

See? It was more than the fact that she presented a challenge for him. She was more than a pawn on the chessboard Harlan Thrombey set up before he checked out.

Which begged the question. What was going to happen once Marta gave him his money?

Marta, their mother, Foghorn Leghorn… all of them would expect him to give her back. And while he was more than a little concerned that the idiot detective he’d hired would try to pin everything on _him_ , he wasn’t worried about kidnapping charges on top of everything. It would be _her_ choice if she pressed charges against him. She wouldn’t. He knew she wouldn’t.

Once he had the money, the smart thing for him to do would be to get the hell out of town – away from everyone – and fly under the radar until the real culprit in all this was discovered.

It would be best to send his pumpkin back to her family. _Best for her_. And he realized he cared about that.

Ransom didn’t like that thought at all.

“Ransom?”

Her voice broke into his thoughts.

“Are you finished so I can get the stuffing ready?” she asked carefully.

Nodding, he finished up the onion he’d been working on.

“Thank you,” she told him sweetly, the kindness unexpected. “Well, let’s put the stuffing together.”

It was a bagged mix with stale bread, a packet of spices. Ransom helped her cook sausage to add, another first for him. She put the rest of it together while he finished the sausage and again, she was happy with his efforts. She thanked him with a smile.

That smile. He hadn’t seen _that_ before. Not directed at him.

Oh, it wasn’t all happy fucking teamwork. When they finally had the turkey stuffed and ready, they got into it about how it was placed in the oven. Ransom won that one – it was common fucking sense. He didn’t win the argument about the pumpkin pie. He wasn’t about to admit it, but he hated pumpkin pie. But she’d roasted the pumpkin seeds, salted them. _Those_ he liked. He snacked on those as he helped her find this spoon, got her milk or butter.

After the parade, she started pulling up Christmas movies to watch. His pumpkin had some very strictly-observed traditions for Thanksgiving. He’d give her that.

They finished cleaning the kitchen up. Ransom helped load the dishwasher. He _had_ done that before.

“How long until dinner’s ready?” he wanted to know, watching her wipe down the counter.

Glancing over her shoulder at the ornate clock over the sink, she shrugged a shoulder. “I’d say about an hour and a half.”

“Everything’s done?” he asked.

“I’ll need to mash the potatoes before then and get the gravy on,” she explained.

Ransom crowded her at the counter. “Well, since you have everything planned out nicely,” he said quietly. “If I remember right, we have an agreement.”

The little gasp she made when he slid his hand over her ass was a sound he _loved_.

“Then we’ll have dinner,” he went on. “Then _you’ll_ call Marta.”

She nodded, placing the towel on the counter in acquiescence. “Okay,” she told him. “Okay.”

No, that didn’t feel right.

“Where… where do you want me?” She finally lifted her gaze, those big eyes on him.

Backing off, holding up his hands, Ransom smirked at her. His mind filled with visions of her kissing him, her hands and mouth on him last night. He knew what he wanted.

“You know, I’ve really enjoyed doing all this… cooking… with you today,” he told her playfully.

Oh, he could _tell_ she didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. The wheels in her head were spinning away.

“Thank you for this,” she told him sincerely. “All of it. I… I’ve had fun.”

Ransom didn’t care for the way those simple words lit up his heart.

“You were in charge,” he pointed out.

She studied him.

“I think I’d like it if you stayed in charge for a while,” he explained, enjoying the confusion that clouded that beautiful face. “Why don’t you tell me where you want _me_?”

Tilting her head, she stared at him hard. “What?”

“The agreement was that until midnight,” Ransom reminded her, “that you’d fuck me when and how I wanted. And right now, I want _you_ to fuck _me_.”

“Oh,” she said finally.

There was a pause and he really wondered what was going on in her head. He had to wonder if she’d just freeze but after a moment, her gaze moved from his face down over the rest of him.

Ransom couldn’t help but smile. Oh, she was thinking about it.

She tried to speak a couple of times and stopped. He’d really shaken his little pumpkin up with this one.

“If you can’t handle it, I’ll just take over,” he taunted her.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I, ah, I want to go back to the… bedroom.”

Still grinning, Ransom nodded and headed that way. In his peripheral vision, he watched her shed her apron before following him. He stopped at the side of the bed he hadn’t bothered to make. He just waited, wanting to see what she’d do.

Now, he would have expected her to ask him to get on the bed or to take off his clothes. What he didn’t expect was for her to walk right up to him, smoothing her hands over his chest. She touched him like he was one of the weird painted figures in his grandfather’s house, like she wasn’t supposed to be touching him. Like he’d break.

Oh, but she _could_ break him. So easily and she didn’t even realize it. It appealed to the self-destructive streak that had always haunted him, the damage he craved and felt like he deserved.

She surprised him by grabbing the hem of his Henley and hauling it up his body. Ransom toed off his shoes as he pulled the shirt off for her. Her little hands working his belt, the front of his jeans had him hard as a fucking rock. He hadn’t bothered with underwear when he dressed but she didn’t seem phased when she pulled down his jeans, found him standing at attention.

Taking his hand, she pulled him to the bed, climbing on and pulling him after her. She had him stretch out on his back in the middle and he held still for her while her gaze moved over him.

“Whatever I want?” she asked him timidly.

_That_ had his libido growing fangs.

“Anything you want,” he told her, not wearing anything but his pinkie ring.

When she started by kissing him, he was a little surprised. She’d simply taken his face in her hands and kissed him, softly at first. After a moment, her tongue was sliding against the seam of his lips and he opened for her, letting her have a deeper taste.

Ransom’s heart hammered in his chest. How long had it been since he’d been kissed _like that_? Her kisses were careful, seeking. It wasn’t easy but he willed himself to hold still for her, to let her explore.

Then she started mimicking his actions as she had before. It was all she would have known to do because _he_ was all she knew. The thought made him insane.

And he wasn’t fucking complaining. Those soft, butterfly kisses down to his jaw, over his neck? It was the best kind of torture. Her lips and tongue teased his ear, tasted his skin. Her hands skimmed over him like soft fire, finally finding their way to his cock.

When she took him in hand, his hips shot up. His pumpkin was a quick study, moving her hand on him like he’d shown her last night.

“Pumpkin, that feels so amazing,” Ransom told her, his fingers gripping the bedding beneath him. “You are such a good girl for me.”

Her gaze rose to him. Ransom knew she loved the praise. He loved even more the way one of her hands slid down to play with his balls the way he liked, the way her lips spread over the head of him. Her mouth was wet heat, her motions unsure. But holy shit that thing she did with her tongue along the underside. He really didn’t want to change what she was doing as long as she kept doing _that_.

_Jesus._

Those big eyes on him while she took him further and further into her mouth? _Fucking everything._ When he hit the back of her throat, he moaned at how amazing it felt. Her hands kept moving, her mouth struggled to pull him further back. When she gagged herself, he though he’d lose his mind.

His little pumpkin worked him hard, almost bringing him off. He finally couldn’t take it anymore. Sliding his hands in her hair, it took a lot to pull her back. Coming in her mouth would be amazing but…

He grinned at the line of spit that ran from her lip to his cock, swiped it away.

“I’m happy to let you finish,” Ransom told her gently, trying to catch his breath. “But you might not get the chance again… Is this all you wanted?”

Then his own words caught up with him. If he had the money by tomorrow, she’d be back with her family if he let her go. His heart clenched his chest at that thought.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, her face flushed, her lips shiny.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, loving her innocence. “You’re in charge.”

Her gaze dropped, she shook her head. “I—”

“Hey,” Ransom tipped her chin up, wanting her gaze back on him. “You’re allowed to want things in bed. Ask for what you want.”

He just realized that he didn’t want her to ask for anything from anyone _else_ in bed. He didn’t want anyone else to touch her. She was _his_. She’d only ever been his.

“I wouldn’t know what to ask for… Ransom,” she said after a moment, still fully dressed and kneeling next to him.

Yeah, he was cheating, but he slid a hand under her, between her thighs. She was hot and damp there, even through her jeans, her thighs clamping around his hand. Would he ever get tired of watching her desires grow? She _wanted_ him.

“There’s nothing I do that you like?” Ransom asked her, watching a blend of emotions cross her face. Shame, guilt, lust… “Nothing you want to try?”

There _was_ something.

Ransom moved his fingers just so, putting just enough pressure against her clit and she wasn’t moving away.

He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard, her gaze moving over him. She surprised him when she pulled off his sweater, revealing her modest bra. When she pulled her jeans open for him, his hand slid inside the denim. No, he wanted more than that. When his hand slid into her panties, she moaned at his touch. Her eyes slid closed.

“You like that, pumpkin?” he whispered.

Nodding, she reached behind her to pull off her bra. When her breasts were released, he couldn’t resist leaning forward to take one of her tight little nipples in his mouth. He teased her gently because that was what she liked. When she started trembling, he knew it wasn’t from fear.

“You want to take these off?” he asked her gently.

She nodded, pulling free of his hand as she worked at pulling off her jeans. She got rid of her panties too. Watching her was hypnotic, the careful way she moved as she crawled back up the bed to him. When she moved up to straddle him, he couldn’t have been happier. Just what he had wanted.

She looked so beautiful over him.

His hands slid over her, down to where she was spread over him. The petals of her sex were slick and swollen. That she was so turned on from just having her mouth on him was very telling. Her body wanted him, and he’d give her what she wanted. He’d give her anything.

Ransom watched in delight as she held him up, lined him up with her entrance. His hands rested at her hips, but he didn’t manipulate her. He let her sink down on him, slowly, at her own pace. The stretch of her walls around him, the heat of her, had him fighting to stay still. Fighting to breathe.

“You feel good?” he whispered, drawing her attention to him.

She planted her hands on his chest, began slowly to move on him.

“Oh, pumpkin, that feels so good,” he purred. “You feel amazing around me… You know that?”

Her walls clenched around him, her body weeping and hot. She liked that, did she?

“Ransom,” she whispered as she moved a little faster.

He loved how she whispered his name. The accent was need, not dread. She needed him. When had anyone ever needed him?

He helped her out. That and he wanted more. He didn’t want to take control away from her, but she felt incredible. Ransom sat up, pumping up into her until she was gasping, hanging onto him with her nails working into his skin. The little bits of pain pushed up his desire, had him moving to find the place inside her that would take her apart. That would make her fall apart above him.

He dropped kisses over her neck, shoulders, her breasts. All that smooth flesh trembling beneath his lips and hands as he worked her. Finally, he moved in her, found that space inside her that had her crying out and clenching around him.

Ransom had to fight not to come. No, she’d get hers first. His fingers slid between them, teasing her clit as she thrashed above him, calling his name as she found her release.

Hanging onto her wasn’t easy and her orgasm set him off. He was pulling her down on him, pumping out his release while the world faded around him. All he could feel was her wrapped around him. The brush of her hair against his face. Her scent, her warmth…

Wrapping her up in his arms, he eased them down on their sides, staying inside her while he fought to get his breath back. 

Ransom wasn’t ready to let her go…

***

“Pumpkin?”

You blinked, looking up to see Ransom leaning over you and dressed again.

“You wanted to do something with potatoes?” he reminded you, grinning.

_Shit._

Just as you were about to spring into motion, Ransom caught you in his arms and kissed you. Not a hard, demanding lustful kiss. No. It was careful and soft, his hands smoothing over your skin and hair lightly.

It went to your head.

Handing you your clothes, he stayed while you dressed and followed you into the kitchen as you finished up the potatoes and put on gravy. It wasn’t long at all until you had everything ready. Ransom took the turkey out, easily going along when you asked him to carve it up.

It wasn’t the Thanksgiving dinner at home with your family, but it wasn’t terrible. Ransom seemed happy, he usually was for a while after sex, and he really seemed to enjoy the meal. He’d insisted you have wine with the meal and asked questions about what you’d made, about what your family did every year for the holidays.

Things felt _different_.

Ransom was an asshole. No one would deny that. But underneath the trust fund playboy, the persona you realized that he wore well, was a man who was… alone.

So you talked about making Thanksgiving dinner with your mother and Marta, the movies you saw afterwards. And that took you to an entire conversation about movies. Ransom liked Tarantino and Scorsese. Action-filled violent movies were his favorites and you weren’t surprised by that. You admitted you like romantic comedies, still loved Disney movies, and anything musical.

You expected him to mock you for it but he didn’t seem surprised.

“You cry at sad movies, don’t you?” he asked.

Well. You _did_.

Pushing away from the table, Ransom nodded. “Okay, after you call Marta, pick out one of your movies then. I’ll watch it with you.”

You smiled at him before you caught yourself, realizing you wanted to take him up on that offer.

And he had said _after you call Marta_. You hated to ask but…

“Can I call her now?” you asked carefully, not wanting to piss him off. You’d actually enjoyed having dinner with him.

Ransom’s smile faded as he rose from the table. “Yeah, okay.”

When he came back, he pressed the burner phone into your hand. Then he stalked back into the living room, stretching out on the couch and turning on the TV.

Why did you feel guilty now for wanting to call your sister?

Marta answer before you ever heard a ring.

“Ransom?”

“Marta, it’s me,” you said, rising from the table with your plate.

Marta sounded in tears when she whispered your name. “Are… you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you said, working at clearing the table as you talked.

“You promise me?” Fear bled all over you sister’s tone.

“Marta, I’m fine... I promise.”

A deep sigh.

“The money will be in Ransom’s account tomorrow,” she explained. “It’s triple what he wanted.”

Well, that would make him happy.

“What about me?” you asked quietly.

Ransom appeared to be watching the news on TV, but you knew he was listening carefully to your conversation.

When someone pounded loudly on the door, you yelped. Ransom shot up off the couch, his gaze on you.

“Open the door,” your sister bid you.

“What?” What was going on?

“Open the door.”

You headed for the door and Ransom was on your heels. He moved around you to open the suite door and reveal none other than Benoit Blanc and Marta on the other side. Your heart flew in your chest. They’d found you.

Marta pretty much shoved Ransom out of the way to get to you, in tears as she hugged you so tightly your ribs compressed, and the burner phone slid out of your hand.

“Well, that’s a little awkward,” Blanc said to Ransom. “May we come in?”

With a scowl, Ransom stepped back allowing the renowned detective into the suite while you tried to pry free from your sister. Once you did, your sister’s fury turned on Ransom. She followed him back to the living room, angrier than you ever remembered seeing her.

“The money will be in your account tomorrow,” Marta’s tone was hostile. “According to the accountant, it’s three times what you would have gotten. You can verify the deposit online.”

Her chin was up, she was defying him to say anything.

Ransom’s signature grin slid into place as he pulled out his phone. Your heart sank a little that he stopped to verify what she’d told him. Maybe the money was the only thing after all. He _had_ said you were there to be his entertainment.

Apparently, it was there. Ransom tucked away his phone after a moment, his attention back on Marta.

She marched up to him and slapped him hard across the face.

“You had no right to take my sister!” Marta yelled at him. “No right! Our mother has been worried sick and so have I!”

“ _Did_ I take her?” Ransom shot back. “Or did she come with me willingly?”

Marta’s gaze shifted to you and back. “I _know_ she didn’t go with you willingly. She’s afraid of you and you know that.”

“As you can see,” Ransom gestured to you, “she’s just fine. It all worked out. I got what was mine and you have your sister back.”

Relief blended with something darker, running through your veins. Ransom was giving you back then.

Wasn’t that what you wanted?

Marta’s gaze moved over you. There you were in his sweater, a deep purple mark at the base of your neck that Ransom had put there a couple of nights ago.

“You won’t enjoy that money if you go to jail for kidnapping,” Marta warned him. “And Harlan…”

“Is _that_ why you’re here?” Ransom demanded, looking between Marta and the detective. “You here to take me in for the death of my grandfather?”

Your heart raced. Was Ransom behind everything?”

Blanc had only watched until this point. He moved next to Marta.

“One thing at a time,” he said, shedding his overcoat and draping it over the couch. “First, the kidnapping allegation.”

You stood by the island in the kitchen, watching mutely.

“Young lady,” Blanc was addressing you now, his expression and voice kind. “Were you, in fact, kidnapped by Mr. Drysdale here?”

You didn’t like having everyone’s attention on you. You dropped your gaze, nodded.

“You see?” Marta said.

“Do you wish to press charges against Mr. Drysdale for kidnapping?” Blanc stood in front of you now and you met his gaze.

You didn’t look at Ransom. You couldn’t.

“No, I don’t,” you said finally.

When you did look at Ransom, you expected to see a smug smile on his face for that victory. But he wasn’t smiling. No, he watched you carefully, concern clouding his blue eyes.

Marta hissed your name. “He kidnapped you.”

“I’m not pressing charges,” you told her in a firmer tone. You meant it. You wouldn’t. And you were nowhere close to even trying to explain that right now.

“Very well,” Blanc turned back to the two of them. “There’s that out of the way. You have your inheritance from Marta, although I advised against it personally. Marta’s sister is returned to her and her family.”

“And the investigation into my grandfather?” Ransom asked, looking formidable as he moved closer to the shorter detective.

Blanc smiled then.

“There is also that,” Blanc explained. “You’ll notice that neither Lieutenant Elliott nor Trooper Wagner are present to make any arrests.”

You watched some of the tension ease from Ransom’s body. He motioned you over and you went, taking a seat on the couch. Marta joined you as Blanc seemed to consider what he was going to say next.

“Why did you flee when you did that day and then abscond with Marta’s sister?” Blanc asked him directly.

Ransom scoffed, slipped back into the asshole you met and feared. “I wasn’t going to stick around and get arrested.”

“Arrested for what exactly?” Blanc pressed. “Well, before we answer that, let’s rewind a little bit, shall we?”

Ransom watched the detective warily but didn’t say anything.

“When I took Marta back to Harlan’s house so she could tell your family that she accidentally killed Harlan the night of his birthday,” Blanc explained, “you fled after I found the extra copy of the toxicology report which proved Marta’s innocence and announced that she’d be keeping the inheritance Harlan wanted her to have. You _knew_ Marta was innocent and you knew once that was proven, the search would be on for the party who conspired to end Harlan Thrombey’s life and disinherit her so the family would benefit after all. You assumed, rightly, that you would be a prime suspect.”

Ransom’s attention as riveted to the detective while you listened carefully. Marta’s innocence had been proven. You knew your sister had cared about Harlan. You knew she was incapable of something like that.

But the detective wasn’t there to arrest Ransom either. That made your heart feel lighter. While you knew the possibility had been there, you didn’t think he’d kill his own grandfather. That wasn’t the man you’d been coming to know.

Apparently, the detective hadn’t discussed this with Marta.

“Then why did you help me?” she asked Ransom.

“Because once everything fell apart at the reading of the will, and it was discovered that Harlan had left all his worldly possessions to _you_ , Ransom here thought if he helped you, he might still have a chance of getting a cut of the money. But, I submit, Ransom wasn’t the only one who knew ahead of time that you would be Harlan’s heir.”

Now all three of you were staring at the detective.

“Who else knew?” Marta asked.

“Who else knew that Ransom had been cut out of the will before it was ever read?” Blanc replied.

Your sister’s brow creased. “Walt?”

While Ransom’s expression darkened, the detective grew more excited in his explanation.

“The Nazi child, according to his mother, heard a lot more than he admitted to,” Blanc explained. “The boy’s father coached him on what to say that day when Walt so vehemently went after you.”

That last was directed at Ransom. Who’d gone after him? What?

“Donna told you that?” Ransom asked.

“Oh, yes,” Blanc told him. “Walt’s wife is concerned for her family’s welfare… Might I ask. Do you know how your uncle sustained the injury that left him requiring a cane to walk?”

Ransom shrugged. “Bicycle accident. That’s what they told us.”

“Oh, no,” Blanc told him. “You uncle, it seems, found himself in money trouble. Borrowed money from the wrong people to get out of it. They came to collect.”

Ransom looked floored. “Are you shitting me?”

Blanc shook his head. “I am not. They came to threaten Donna during this investigation. Fortunately, I happened to stop by to question her and interrupted the attempt.”

Ransom and Marta exchanged a look. You’d met the members of Harlan and Ransom’s family, but you didn’t know much about them. Until now.

“Walt was already laying the groundwork to prove you had a part to play in this,” Blanc went on. “Berating you in front of your family and pointing out you’d been cut out of your grandfather’s will.”

Ransom dropped his gaze at that. _That_ had hurt him.

“When you didn’t show up for the funeral, well, you made it even easier for him,” Blanc said. “You were the black sheep of the family – their words – and you had no love at all for Fran. And she despised you.”

Now Ransom looked confused. “What the hell does Fran have to do with this?”

The look exchanged between Marta and Blanc got your attention. Marta’s features softened.

“Fran saw the real culprit go back into Harlan’s house on the day of the funeral,” Blanc told him. “With the investigation going on, the real culprit couldn’t find a time to get to Marta’s medical bag to retrieve the vials. But Fran saw him. It was she who sent the copy of the top of the toxicology report with that note – to Walt – and he slid it into your mailbox when he confronted you at your apartment that morning, Marta.”

“Wait,” Ransom was trying to keep up. “It was Fran we were going to meet to get the tox report from? After the police chase?”

Marta had been in a police chase?

“It was,” Blanc told him. “But the killer got there first and had injected her with a lethal dose of morphine and left her to die at that address. Despite Marta’s efforts to save her.”

Fran was dead? That poor woman.

“And how do you know it wasn’t me?” Ransom asked him.

“You had an alibi during the time Fran was attacked,” Blanc explained. “A young lady you’d taken home the night before... One who greatly resembles Marta’s sister here I might add… She was _very_ helpful.”

Ransom wouldn’t look at you, but your heart was flying.

“That being said, Walt must have disguised himself because when Marta found Fran, she was trying to tell her that _Hugh_ did this,” Blanc spun on.

Marta’s gaze darted to Ransom and back to Blanc. “That’s what she said. But Ransom wasn’t there?”

“He couldn’t have been,” Blanc told her. “He had an alibi for the funeral too. I have written proof of that.”

“Where was he?” Marta asked.

“Doesn’t matter.” Blanc cut Ransom a look at that. “What matters is that Walt did _not_ have an alibi for either of those times. While he was at the funeral, his wife Donna maintains that he arrived late because of some urgent business for the publishing company.”

“That son of a bitch,” Ransom muttered angrily. “He found out Harlan left everything to Marta, so he set her up. And when he figured out the toxicology report would prove her innocent…”

“You were his plan B,” Blanc finished for him.

“How did Fran get the toxicology report?” Ransom thought it through. “And Walt burned the forensics lab?”

“It would appear so on the lab. That’s where my partners in the investigation currently are.” Blanc gestured to Marta. “I believe Fran explained to Marta that she had a friend who got her a copy of those results when she discovered that Harlan was a victim of foul play.”

While you were relieved that Ransom didn’t have a part to play in either framing your sister or the death of his grandfather, it was an awful thought. Walt caused his own father to commit suicide so he could get out of money trouble?

“Fuck… Does my mother know about this?”

Blanc chuckled. “Not yet. Your mother has been too busy badgering poor Marta here. Been telling her that if she’ll renounce the inheritance, she could convince you to give her sister back.”

What? Ransom’s mother Linda had known he’d taken you? And used that to try to get money?

As offended as you wanted to be at that, how could you be? That’s what her son had done.

“Well, there’s going to be hell to pay when this gets out,” Ransom said raking a hand through his hair. “Jesus.”

“They want to bring you in for questioning,” Blanc said to him carefully.

Ransom studied him. “But you didn’t bring them with you.”

“I did not.”

Blanc was trying to help him?

“Where do we go from here?” he asked the detective.

Blanc shrugged. “We’ll continue to gather evidence until we can bring charges against your uncle. Or get him to fess up… In the meantime, I’ll be taking these two young ladies home.”

Marta rose from the couch on that note, pulling you with her. She had a strong grip on your arm like she was afraid Ransom would try to snatch you away again.

“I need to get—”

“No, I’ll buy you new things,” Marta said to you, but she watched Ransom. “Let’s just go.”

Blanc seeing Marta wanted to get out of there pulled his coat from the couch and draped it around your shoulders. It was heavy but warm.

And you were going home. You just didn’t feel the joy you expected to.

Ransom’s gaze was intense on you, his blue eyes dark, troubled.

For the longest moment, you held his gaze. Had you just been his entertainment? Would he even think about you again now that he had his money?

At what point had you come to care either way? Your heart ached at the thought of just leaving him here.

“Goodbye, Ransom,” you finally said as Marta nearly dragged you out the suite door.

Ransom never said anything.

And just like that you were in the elevator, heading down to the lobby. You asked if you could run into the bathroom before heading back home so Marta and Blanc waited in the lobby for you.

Your hands shook and your heart hurt as you made your way into the ladies’ room.

***

“Can’t I press charges against him on her behalf?” Marta asked Blanc the minute you were out of earshot.

“Unless she agrees to go along, you’ll be wasting your time,” the detective advised her.

“So he just gets away with it?”

Blanc’s expression was hard to read.

“Your dealings with the Thrombeys is far from over,” he pointed out. “Even when everything comes to light about Walt. You know that.”

Marta nodded.

“And Ransom Drysdale?” The detective wanted to say something, but he appeared uncertain if he should.

“What about Ransom?” Marta wanted to know.

“You won’t be rid of him so easily,” Blanc said simply.

“Why?”

“Ransom Drysdale is a victim of his own machination,” Blanc explained.

Marta frowned. “How? He got what he wanted. He got the money.”

“The money isn’t the only thing he’s after.” Blanc smiled. “He’s not going to give up your sister so easily… He’s very obviously in _love_ with her.”


	7. Chapter 7

“You have a booty call later?”

Kayla’s question was just odd enough to pull you from your thoughts. Booty call? _You?_

“I asked if you had a booty call lined up later,” the perky blonde asked you with a warm smile. “We’re supposed to be here drinking and gossiping about the faculty and you keep zoning out.”

“I’m sorry.” She was right.

You were sitting here in a cheery warm bar, enjoying drinks with your fellow nursing students. The place was packed, everyone was in high spirits because it was the last day of class and you had a week off before the holidays. Everyone was laughing and happy.

_Except you._ Your mind wasn’t on this.

You had to stop thinking about _him_.

“So?” Kayla wasn’t letting it go.

“No,” you told her, grinning. “No booty call for me… Just thinking about what I’m going to do over the holiday break I guess.”

Kayla nodded, her cheeks flushed with color. “What’s it like now that your sister inherited the house and all that money? Is it wonderful?”

Kayla was a sweet girl and her happiness for you and your family was genuine. She just let her mouth get out from under her head _a lot_ when she drank.

“It’s not terrible,” you admitted.

“You live in a mansion now,” Kayla went on excitedly. “You can buy _whatever_ you like.”

You didn’t have to worry about the rent or grocery money anymore. You were _most_ grateful for that.

When it came to buying things? You hadn’t done a lot. Marta bought you a new phone that did everything but serve drinks and some new clothes. You fought her when wanted to buy you a new car. Your car was fine.

When you weren’t forthcoming about the inheritance, Kayla didn’t give up. “Do you date then? I don’t remember you ever mentioning a boyfriend.”

You’d never really had a boyfriend. Unless Ransom counted. And you were pretty sure he didn’t. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since you said goodbye in the suite in Providence. You weren’t proud of it, but you’d even tried to see if you could find out anything about what he’d been up to online. Ransom didn’t do social media apparently and no one else said anything about him. Not recently.

Oh, there were pictures of him on Instagram with various girls. In many, he was drunk or wearing that superior smirk of his. You smiled. In half the pictures, he just didn’t look like he wanted to be there.

All of the pictures were dated earlier in the year, only a couple since your first run-in with him at Valentine’s Day.

“I don’t date a lot,” you finally said.

“No one special?” Kayla asked.

“Maybe one,” you told her, grinning. “That ended… recently.”

Finishing her vodka tonic, Kayla tipped her head in the direction of the bar. “Maybe your luck is about to change. That guy’s been checking you out for the last twenty minutes.”

Your heart started racing in your chest as your gaze flew in that direction. Landing on a nice-looking brunette at the end of the bar with curly dark hair and a nice smile.

Your heart slowed, sank. _It wasn’t him._

“You should go talk to him,” Kayla nudged you with an elbow.

“I think I should go home,” you countered. “I’m sorry. Just really tired.”

Kayla nodded but you could tell she was concerned. “Text me when you get home, okay? We’ve been drinking for a while. I just want to know you got back safe.”

“I will.” You hugged her tightly before pulling on your coat and heading out of the bar.

You didn’t immediately realize you were being followed.

“Hey,” a deep voice close behind you got your attention. “Where you headed?”

You stopped and turned around. The cute guy from the bar was on your heels as you reached your car.

A quick glance around showed you that no one else seemed to be in the parking lot at the little dive on the edge of town and it was dimly lit. You needed to end this quick.

“Home,” you said quietly. “Good night.”

You’d just unlocked your car door when you felt his hand on your shoulder and you flinched.

“Wait,” he said, his tone still friendly. “Can you give me a ride? Hopefully, it’s not too far out of your way.”

Your heart pounded in rising fear. Asking for a ride from a stranger was one thing. But he was being really aggressive. You decided to pull open your car door, tried to get in. Whoever he was wedged himself between you and your door, keeping you from closing it.

“I’m being nice here,” he said to you as if you should be grateful. “So why don’t you climb into the passenger seat and I’ll do the driving… Sound good?”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself because you didn’t handle confrontation well. Not at all. But you didn’t like the guy or his threatening manner.

“I need to go home,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry… I can’t give you a ride… If you’ll excuse me.”

The guy’s face went from cute to angry red and pinched in about three seconds. Leaning down, he got in your face.

“Look, you little bitch,” he hissed at you, “I’m not asking for a lot here. A ride somewhere, a little fun. You should be a _little_ nicer to me.”

You backed away as much as you could with the center console of your car digging into your back. Reaching into the pocket of your coat, your hand closed around your phone.

“I-I’ll call the police,” you warned him in a shaky voice.

The man scoffed at that. “And you think they’re going to believe _you_? Some drunk little cunt at a bar?”

You stared back at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. You _were_ drunk. You’d had four pretty strong drinks, a first for you but you’d wanted to get things off your mind a while. Get Ransom off your mind for a while.

Now look where you were.

“Now do what I fucking told you and shove over,” the man hissed at you.

Then he was yanked away, out of your space, out of your door. You yelped when something hit the roof of your car _hard_ just above your head. Another impact, a third. Your heart flew like a terrified bird trying to flee its cage while you sat paralyzed by fear in your driver’s seat.

“Who the _fuck_ is this guy?” Ransom scowled at you as he grabbed your arm and none-too-gently hauled you back out of your car.

Your heart continued to race only now it wasn’t in fear. It was surprise, relief.

Hope.

Ransom was here.

Until you saw the enormous, bloody dent he’d put in the roof of your car. The guy in question was unconscious at Ransom’s feet, looking like he’d had his face smashed in.

“Ransom,” you said, your voice still so shaky it wasn’t even a good whine. “My car?”

Ransom didn’t release his grip on your arm. He just shot you a look. “I have shoes that cost more than this car, pumpkin. And you have duct tape on your fender.”

Blowing out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you stumbled as Ransom shut and locked your door, dragging you over the man and across the parking lot.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, not sure how to feel about the fact that he found you here.

Ransom didn’t stop until he reached his Beamer, unlocking the passenger door.

“No, the question is what are _you_ doing here,” he said angrily. “You’re drunk… And leaving with _that_ asshole?”

“I wasn’t leaving _with_ him,” you said frantically.

Ransom was pretty much shoving you into his car.

“You have a lot of explaining to do, little girl,” he told you angrily before slamming the door.

Your heart pounded in fear as he marched around the back of his car and climbed into the driver’s seat. His jaw was locked and angry, his blue eyes cold on you as he tucked in the length of his coat and slammed his own door.

You pulled on your seat belt when you watched him pull on his own. You didn’t say anything as he started the car and spun rocks out of the parking lot at an alarming speed.

“Is this what you’re doing now?” Ransom demanded as he drove. “Now that your sister has my grandfather’s estate, you’re just going out every night? Getting drunk? Hooking up with random losers? Is that it?”

Ransom was furious. No, you didn’t like his line of questioning. You weren’t Ransom’s.

_Your traitorous heart wanted you to be._

But you reminded yourself that Ransom had just used you to motivate your sister into giving him money from his grandfather’s estate. You had been his “entertainment.” He hadn’t protested when Marty and Benoit Blanc came for you at the hotel in Providence. You hadn’t heard a thing from him since.

So why were you cowering in his car, slipping back into the role he’d set for you?

_His captive._

“Ransom,” you said quietly. “I just went out with my friends… We just finished finals and wanted to hang out before the holidays. That’s all.”

Ransom cut you a glare as he drove.

“I watched you stumble across the parking lot, pumpkin,” Ransom said tightly. “Wouldn’t have taken much for that fucker back there to have taken off with you. You know that, right?”

Tears stung the backs of your eyes. The guy back there _had_ scared you. What would have happened if Ransom hadn’t been there? It wasn’t likely the police would have gotten there in time to save you. And as the creep said, would the police have believed _you_?

“Why were you there, Ransom?” you asked him carefully. “I haven’t seen you since…”

Oh, how pitiful you sounded. Even to your own ears.

“I had to lay low for a while,” he explained as he drove. “I had to avoid the police until they nailed my uncle Walt for my grandfather’s death. And Fran’s. And then I caught hell from my fucking family. My mother’s not speaking to me right now.”

“Why?”

Another look before that blue-eyed gaze returned to the road.

“My mother actually thought to use you to get Marta to renounce the inheritance,” Ransom told you. “When she found out I gave you back, she was pissed… They’re all assholes.”

Maybe it was the alcohol swimming in your veins that gave you the courage. “Doesn’t that make you an asshole too? _You_ used me to get the money.”

Ransom didn’t look at you then, but you watched his fingers tightened ever so slightly around the steering wheel.

“Does she know you got part of the inheritance?” you had to ask.

“Of course she does,” he said bitterly.

“I’m sorry,” you told him. Even if they didn’t have the best relationship, Linda Drysdale was still his mother. Did the money really mean more to her than her son?

“I’m not,” Ransom said.

But you knew him a little better now. Ransom got a cut of the inheritance. He got three times that according to Marta. You would have thought he’d be out there, spending it and living his best life. That had been his plan all along.

Here he was with you.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you reminded him. “Why are you _here_?”

“Just got back to town.” Ransom turned down a road you weren’t familiar with. “And it looks like it’s a good thing that I did, huh?”

“Thank you,” you told him, realizing things could have gone badly for you if he hadn’t shown up when he did.

Scanning the road with bleary eyes, you had to wonder… Your heart started hammering.

“Ransom, where are we going?” you asked in a small voice.

“I’m taking you home,” he explained, taking another turn.

“This isn’t the way to my home now,” your voice wasn’t steady.

Pulling up in the drive of a large house you hadn’t seen before, you wondered where he’d taken you. You admired the way it was lit up. It had a more modern layout, square shapes with lots of windows for walls. An open, airy home.

“No, it’s _my_ home,” Ransom parked the car, shut off the engine.

Your emotions were all over the place and the alcohol buzz wasn’t helping. Why had Ransom brought you here? This was his house? What was he up to?

He turned that smirk on you as he threw off his seat belt.

“Why did you bring me here, Ransom?”

Reaching over, he released your seat belt. “So you can sleep it off. Even if you could’ve driven yourself home in the state you’re in, do you really want to stumble into that mansion and show off how inebriated you are to your mother and my Great Nana? Marta?”

Mutely, you shook your head. Climbing out of the car, he had your door open before you could reach for the handle. Leaning in, his face was so close to yours.

“Can you walk?” he asked smugly.

You thought you could. You managed with his arm around your waist, slowly guiding you to the front door of his house. You watched as he unlocked the door.

“You don’t mean to… keep me… here?” you had to ask.

Your world spun as Ransom scooped you up, kicking the door closed behind him.

His voice was a low purr in your ear. “Do you want me to?”

You shivered in his arms, your own wrapped around his neck as he made his way through the darkened house with you. He carried you into a spacious bedroom, sitting you on the side of an enormous bed and turning on a nearby lamp. You winced at the light that sent a spike of pain through your head.

Ransom shook his head. “Going to be hungover in the morning?”

“No,” you said defensively, lifting a hand to the side of your achy head. “Maybe.”

Leaving you there, Ransom dug through the drawer of a nearby dresser. When he returned, he was carrying a dark red shirt. He tossed it on the bed next to you before pulling off the boots you wore. Your jeans went next and then your sweater. You swatted at him half-heartedly as he undressed you, the panic in your mind at his actions dulled by the drinks you had.

Ransom chuckled at the way you scrambled to cover your breasts when he plucked off your bra. The next minute he was pulling a huge soft shirt over your head to cover you again. It was his. It smelled like him and you felt yourself relax a little.

Pointing to his left, Ransom said, “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and I’ll get you some water and aspirin.”

You nodded but then remembered…

“Where is my purse?”

Ransom pulled the small clutch from the pocket of his coat and handed it to you before shrugging off his coat and hanging it up. You set your phone on the bedside table, digging further to find your supplies. You thought you did a good job of tucking the little packet with the panty liner you needed into your palm to head for the bathroom. Ransom stopped you before you could reach the door.

“What you got there, pumpkin?” he asked even as he pried open your hand.

You swallowed hard. You had no idea what he _thought_ you had but…

“I just need to…” Why should you be embarrassed about anything with Ransom? He’d been your lover from a certain point of view. “It’s the end of my…”

Ransom blew out an exhale and his head and shoulders drooped. “Well, that answers _that_ question.”

_What?_ Why did he look so… _disappointed?_

“Yeah, okay.” Dropping your hand, he strolled out of the bedroom while you did what you needed to do.

The entire time your mind wouldn’t shut down. Had Ransom thought you were pregnant? True, he’d taken your things when he took you, including your birth control pills. And you’d been a couple of weeks late. But you’d chalked it up to the stress of what happened and the fact that your regimen had bene thrown completely off.

The alcohol was slowly being metabolized by your body. Still, your head was muddled. Wouldn’t Ransom be relieved you weren’t pregnant? A baby, you would think, would be the last thing he’d want.

If he thought it was a possibility, was that why he was mad you’d been drinking?

You were so confused.

When you walked out of the bathroom, you really weren’t surprised to find him stretched out in the bed and scrolling through TV channels. Your heart sped up as you took him in, his chest bare and one muscular arm tucked behind his head.

“You going to stare at me for a while?” Ransom asked. “Or are you going to get into bed?”

You didn’t know what his intentions were, but you were still drunk, tired. Pulling back the covers on the side closest to you, you climbed in next him. You didn’t think he even noticed you until he spoke.

“What have you been up to since Thanksgiving, pumpkin?” he sounded bored.

_Thinking about you._

You stretched out under the covers. “School,” you said after a moment. “Moving out of the apartment.”

“You like the mansion?”

What did you say to that? It had been his grandfather’s home. A home Harlan Thrombey didn’t want to go to his own family. Maybe he’d been right to feel that way, but what a question.

“It’s nice,” you admitted. “Huge… I’m still trying to find my way around it.”

“I’ll give you a real tour sometime,” he told you, settling on a channel and setting the remote between you on the bed. “Any dates?”

_What?_

Those heated blue eyes were on you then while you just stared at him.

“When would I have had time for that?” you wondered aloud.

His gaze searched your face. “There’s always time, pumpkin.”

Dropping your gaze, you shook your head. “I haven’t seen anyone since…”

Why did the tense lines in his face ease at that?

“How’s Great Nana doing?” Ransom asked then.

“Good,” you replied. The older woman was quiet and really no trouble at all. All three of you looked after her. “You should come by to visit her.”

You knew Marta would _hate_ that, but it was his great-grandmother. What could she say really?

“I plan to,” he told you. “I’ll drive you home in the morning. I’ll visit with her then.”

Moving closer, Ransom reached over you for a water glass and a small bottle of aspirin, directing you to take them and finish half the water. Once he was happy, he put everything back on the table on your side before sliding an arm under you and pulling you tightly against him.

You didn’t fight him. No, even though you were aware your brain was buzzing in the background, you made yourself comfortable with your head on his chest, a leg thrown across him. You went right to sleep.

***

Ransom woke up slowly, stretched. It had been weeks since he’d slept so well. He knew why.

Next to him, she was sound asleep. On her side with her back against his chest, her ass pressed into his hard-on. It was the sweetest torture, but Ransom wouldn’t trade it for anything.

His pumpkin was correct in what she said. He _was_ an asshole. He had taken her to get Marta to give him a cut of his grandfather’s estate and his plan had been a success. He got more than his share of the money and he’d been able to go back to the lifestyle he was used to after a few days with her.

It was _her_ that Ransom had underestimated.

Ransom had wanted her from the beginning. There was no denying that. And he’d had her, gotten to know her.

She’d changed everything.

Ransom had gotten everything he wanted, but he lost what he had. From the moment she’d walked away from him with her sister and the detective, nothing had been the same. The drugs hadn’t offered him much of a respite, the alcohol hadn’t been able to fill the void.

Sex since her had been one quick sweaty night of cocaine and scotch and a girl whose face he couldn’t even remember. All he knew was that sex with her, whoever she was, left him colder, more alone.

It hadn’t taken him long to decide to come home, to reclaim what was his. It wasn’t like she’d ever left his mind anyway. Those big eyes, the shy smiles. They were his. She was _his_.

Ransom felt good about his chances of winning _her_ over. His little pumpkin had been adorably agreeable to leaving the dive bar with him. Arranging for his actor buddy who was home for the holidays to act like an attempted creepy rapist probably helped that along. A little fake blood, a couple of hard hits to the top of her cheap little car, and she’d let him toss her into his Beamer. He’d done a pretty good acting job too admittedly.

Her mother? Ransom hadn’t met her yet. He would and he’d assess that situation then.

Marta? Well, that would be a battle in itself. But one Ransom was looking forward to.

For long moments, Ransom just enjoyed being spooned around her, holding her. Yeah, he knew it wasn’t that easy. He’d stolen himself a night with her, gotten to hold her. Got a much-needed night of sleep. It would almost be worth the shit storm that he was expecting.

When her phone started screen light up out of the corner of his eye, Ransom grinned. He was up, grabbing her phone, and down the hall to his kitchen, chilly in just his boxers. Pumpkin’s phone was the latest tech and nice. Sure enough, she hadn’t put a pass code on it. Marta was Facetiming her and with more than a little delight, Ransom accepted the call.

“Where the hell are you—” Marta’s dark eyes widened on the screen.

Ransom had to fight not to laugh.

“Ransom,” she was slowly.

“She’s asleep,” he told her sister. “Can I take a message?”

Scrubbing a hand down her face, Marta glared at him. “She didn’t come home last night, Ransom. Some girl she’d gone out with called at two this morning to let me know she hadn’t heard from her that she’d gotten home.”

The phone said it was just after ten. “It’s been a long morning, huh?”

“Where is she?” Marta was yelling.

“Asleep,” Ransom told her calmly, enjoying the situation. “She had a few drinks. Once she wakes up, I’ll bring her home.”

Marta’s expression was pure hatred.

“I want her home by _noon_ , Ransom,” Marta said fiercely. “If you think to play another game with me—”

“Noon it is,” he cut her off. It was too early for Marta’s theatrics. Ransom ended the call.

When he sauntered back into his bedroom, he smiled to see she hadn’t moved. There she was, in his bed, sleeping peacefully.

_You’ll be here to stay soon, pumpkin._

And as much as he wanted to climb back into bed with her and claim her in every way he’d been dreaming of, Ransom decided against it. He wanted her to come to _him_.

And she would.

First things first. A shower and then he’d make her breakfast. She’d need her energy for the fight waiting for them when he drove her back to the mansion.

Ransom couldn’t wait.


	8. Chapter 8

You took a deep breath when he parked at the side of the mansion. It was probably too much to hope that no one saw him drive you home. Maybe you could say you hired an Uber. 

You had a _lot_ of explaining to do.

“Why couldn’t we go get my car?” you asked.

“The huge dent and the blood,” he reminded you.

Ransom looked handsome as he always did. His dark hair was swept back perfectly, his clothes and coat clean and neat. The side-eye and smirk combination he threw you as he shut off the engine didn’t make you feel better.

You were in the same clothes you’d worn yesterday. You’d showered, put yourself together as best you could. But you were hungover, and you looked the part, slumped in the seat next to Ransom.

“Ransom,” you had to try, “I don’t think today is the best day for this.”

Throwing off his seatbelt, Ransom shifted in the seat, angling his body towards yours.

“Best day for what?” he asked as he pulled off his sunglasses.

“You’d said you were going to visit Great Nana,” you reminded him. “Today might not be a good day.”

Ransom considered that. “I haven’t seen her since before Thanksgiving. Today is just fine.”

You blew out an exhale. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault really.”

The smirk. “ _What’s_ your fault, Pumpkin?”

“Well, it’s my fault that it’s not a good day for that visit,” you said carefully. “Maybe in a couple of days? I can call you and let you know when… things are better… I’m really sorry, Ransom.”

He wasn’t budging. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I really don’t want to.” Your head hurt and you dreaded what was bound to be quite a lecture from your mother _and_ sister.

“Why isn’t today a good day to visit Great Nana?” Ransom tried again.

You knew he wouldn’t let it go until you answered him and the faster you got in the house and let them yell at you, the faster you could get in bed and sleep a little more. You really did feel like shit.

“Ransom, I’ve never _not_ come home before,” you told him quietly.

He studied you for a moment with those cool blue eyes. “Really?”

You sighed. “That was only the second time I’ve ever been to a bar. The first time I had a diet soda.”

You really hated the amusement in his expression. You shook your head. “I don’t need you to make fun of me, Ransom.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he told you smiling.

“Oh, yes you were. I know I’m not… sophisticated as you are,” you went on. “The point is. I told my family I was having a drink or two with my friends from school. I was going to be home early. But you and I both know that’s not what happened. I went, I got drunk. I got followed by… that creep and…”

The panic that thought brought had his smirk fading. “What?”

“Ransom, you knocked out the guy in the parking lot.” How could you have forgotten? “His blood is on my car. That dent.” You blew out a desperate exhale, your morning having just got much worse. “If he went to the police—”

“Why would he?” Ransom said quickly. “He was there to pick up a girl. The chances are pretty good he’s had scrapes with the law before. Going to the cops would be the last thing someone like that would do.”

Maybe he was right. “What if he comes after _me_?”

He shook his head. “Guys like that look for easy victims…. Drunk women stumbling out of a bar alone.”

You glared at him even though the effort made your headache worse. 

“Don’t be an ass. I’m going to catch enough hell when I go in there. I didn’t come home. I didn’t call. They are going to be _furious_ with me. They were probably up all night worried.”

Ransom didn’t say anything.

“If _you_ go in with me,” you explained, “it’s just going to make everything worse… It’s bad enough I’m going to have to lie and tell them I went home with one of my friends.”

When he still didn’t say anything, you glanced his way. He was looking beyond you, at the mansion. Marta stood in the window, arms folded across her chest. Your sister was glaring but not at _you_.

At Ransom.

“Shit,” you muttered, dangerously close to tears. “She saw us.”

Ransom chuckled. “Might as well get our story straight before we go in there, Pumpkin.”

“Our story?” Your heart pounded out your dread.

“I answered your phone this morning while you were asleep,” Ransom told you, mischief lighting up his blue eyes. “Marta knows you spent the night at my place.”

_Oh my God._

Ransom opened his car door. “You ready?” 

You knew you were sitting there staring at him with your mouth open but…

“You what?”

Ransom’s gaze met yours. “Your sister Facetimed you this morning while you were still asleep. I answered.”

“Why would you do that?” You buried your face in your hands. You could just imagine what Marta took away from _that_.

“And you’re right,” he went on. “They were up most of the night worried about you.”

You were in a world of trouble with your mother, with Marta. And on top of facing the music, Ransom was going in with you?

Numb in your dread, you climbed out of the car, your clutch held tightly in your hands. Ransom walked around the car to you, his hand at your lower back as he guided you toward the front door. You were not looking forward to this.

Marta stood in the doorway when you reached it, the hostile look on her face made you want to run back to the beamer. She glared at you both as she stepped back and allowed you to walk in. Your mother rose from the chair by the door, her gaze looking you up and down. The concern on her face was legitimate as she came up to hug you.

“Are you alright?” your mother asked you in that careful tone she used when you had company.

“Ransom Drysdale,” he offered his hand to your mother. “I’m glad to meet you.”

Your mother hesitated but she shook hands. “Marcela Cabrera.”

Her gaze swept over Ransom then. You expected anger, revulsion. Your mother’s expression held a note of trepidation, sure. But her curiosity was most obvious.

You flinched when Marta shut the door a little harder than necessary. She marched in your direction as you mother returned to her chair.

“It’s almost three, Ransom.” Marta’s hard glance bounced from him to you and back.

What did that mean?

Ransom tipped his head in your direction. “She needed to sleep it off,” he said easily. “And I made sure she had something to eat.”

Marta was shaking her head, her anger building steam. And she turned it on you. “ _You_ said you were going out with the girls from school for drinks.” She was close to yelling. “You said you wouldn’t be out late.”

Her rising voice had your head pounding.

“I’m so sorry,” you told her, also glancing at your mother. “I did go out with them. And I didn’t mean to stay out all night.”

“Your friend Kayla called,” Marta told you angrily. “At two in the morning. She said you’d agreed to call her when you got home because you’d had _several_ drinks. You didn’t call.”

_Shit._ Yes, you _had_ agreed to that. And, yes, you had several drinks.

“She said you left the bar before ten o’clock,” Marta informed you.

You panicked. If you mentioned the creep who’d followed you out of the bar, on the heels of what you’d just gone through over Thanksgiving, your mother and Marta would completely freak out.

You’d ended up with Ransom and that wasn’t any better considering he’d been the one who’d kidnapped you. Your heart flew. Your mother watched everything silently from her chair.

“Well, what happened when you left the bar?” Marta demanded.

What were you going to say?

You flinched when you felt Ransom’s hands gripping your coat from behind you and easing It off your shoulders. You switched your clutch from one to the other to help him, your heart flying in your chest. Ransom took the short walk to the sofa and draped your coat over the back before returning to place himself between you and your sister.

“Ease up,” Ransom warned Marta.

“She can answer for herself,” Marta cut in.

“She was in no state to drive herself home,” Ransom continued as if Marta hadn’t said anything.

Your mother’s brows rose as she listened.

“She called _me_ to drive her home,” he added.

Marta’s eyes were almost comically wide. “What?”

You tugged at the sleeve of his coat to get his attention. Ransom was getting ready to spin a story for you and you were more than a little afraid of what he might say. As if your tugging on his coat was a reminder, he shrugged out of it. Taking it to the sofa to join yours.

“She wouldn’t have called _you_ ,” Marta said indignantly as he walked back. “Not when me and our mother were both here at the time and could come get her.”

Ransom shrugged as if to say he didn’t have an answer for it, but he stuck to his story. “She really wasn’t in any state to _walk_ to be honest with you. She didn’t want to go home like that. I took her back to my place to have a little water and sober up…. But she fell asleep.”

It sounded plausible but…

Walking around him to stand right in front of you, your sister stared you down. “What _really_ happened?”

You swallowed hard. You didn’t puke when you lied like Marta, but you were pretty bad at it even so.

You took a deep breath.

“You had that many drinks?” she wanted to know.

You nodded. ‘Kayla was right.”

Blowing out an exhale, she shook her head. “How did you even have his number?”

“I got his number when I stayed with him at Thanksgiving,” you offered. Adding to the web of lies you and Ransom were constructing.

Marta scoffed. “Stayed with him? Oh, my God, he _kidnapped_ you!” Throwing her hands up, she spun to look at your mother. “You see what I mean? Maybe it _is_ Stockholm Syndrome.”

“Stockholm Syndrome? Really?” Ransom chuckled. “You’ve been hanging out with Foghorn Leghorn a little too long.”

Marta rounded on him. “How dare you!”

She pointed her finger at him. Yeah, she was furious.

“You took my sister, Ransom. You took her to make sure I gave you part of Harlan’s estate. You knew that was the only way you’d get part of his money. And she was afraid of you. You knew that! So don’t stand here acting like that never happened because it did. We were terrified not knowing what would happen to her… I hope you never have to go through what we did, wondering if you’d ever see someone you loved again.”

Ransom’s gaze on you was unreadable. “What makes you so sure I haven’t?”

His expression darkened then, his jaw tightening as he focused on your sister. “You honestly thought I’d hurt her? Kill her?” he asked angrily.

“We didn’t know,” Marta shot back. “We didn’t know who was responsible for what happened to Harlan, to Fran. It could have been you.”

“Of course it could have been me.” He shook his head, losing his patience. You could tell. those blue eyes flashed determination. “For that matter, I didn’t know who was behind the death of _my_ grandfather and Fran. From where I was standing, it could have been _you_.”

That struck a nerve. Marta glanced from him to you and back. “You believed that?”

Ransom shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

“My sister would never believe that,” she said with conviction.

Glancing at you, he regarded you carefully. “No, she never did.”

“Can you at least own up to what you did?” Marta’s voice rose, drawing his attention back to her. “I know we won’t get an apology out of you, but an acknowledgment would be something.”

“Own up to something I didn’t do?” Ransom was glaring back at her now.

Marta pointed that finger at you. “When Blanc asked her if she’d been kidnapped, she said yes, Ransom. You were there. You can say that she went with you willingly all you want but I think we both know that’s not true.”

Ransom’s glare turned on you and your heart sped up. It was all your fault. You shouldn’t have gone to meet the girls at the bar. You shouldn’t have had so much to drink. You shouldn’t…

But you had gotten to see Ransom, your heart whispered. That part you couldn’t regret.

“Marta,” you held up your hands in surrender. “This is my fault. I went out, I got drunk. I panicked. I called Ransom who came to get me and help me sober up. Then he let me sleep. Don’t yell at him for my bad judgment.”

Ransom’s ire faded and he regarded you with barely masked surprise.

“Your judgment _was_ bad.” Marta blew out an exhale. “You were there drunk and had driven alone. Someone could have taken off with you.”

Your gaze met Ransom’s. Somehow, he managed not to react to that.

“If Ransom really did show up to help you, fine,” Marta went on angrily. Then she turned back to him. “But that doesn’t make up for you taking her from us until you got your money. We were terrified. And so was she. I know my sister, Ransom. And she _was_ scared of you.”

Ransom’s glare was back. “Does she look scared now?”

They stared each other down. Your mother still watched.

“I don’t know what happened while she as gone,” Marta’s tone held more than a hint of warning. “But if she ever tells me, if I ever get proof that you mistreated her in any way, I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

He took a step towards her, looming and threatening. He was really pissed off.

“And I’m not sure I believe that she called you for help but…”

Your heart clenched in dread because both of them were so angry.

“I don’t want you around her, Ransom.” Marta’s expression softened then when she looked to you. Your sister really did love you. You realized she was only trying to protect you. “I’m hoping that won’t pose a problem for you.”

You swallowed hard on that note. You didn’t even know what to expect from this turn in the conversation. Would Ransom laugh at the suggestion? Had everything you hoped he felt for you been a lie? Would he agree easily?

“Well it _does_ pose a problem for me,” Ransom said slowly.

Your heart hammered in your chest, but he didn’t look at you.

“She’s an adult,” he reminded her. “Who she sees is _her_ choice. Not yours.”

Marta folded her arms across her chest. “She is. But I don’t have to make it easy for you. Blanc said I could take out a restraining order against you and that would mean you _have_ to stay away.”

“You?” Ransom wanted to know, his fists tightening at his sides.

“No, her.” Marta pointed at you. “Though if it has to be me, as long as I’m with her, same thing applies.”

“And you think she’ll agree to that?”

Your heart was shredding itself in your chest. Would they honestly make you choose?

Marta glared at him. “Are you threatening her? Blackmailing her? What are you doing, Ransom? I know—”

“Shut up!” Ransom finally yelled. “I realize you think I’m a top-tier asshole, Marta. Just maybe I’ve earned that… But I’m not making your sister do anything she doesn’t want to do. I _promise_ you that.”

When they both looked at you, you wanted to sink through the floor. That your actions caused the fight to start with was bad enough. Now they were fighting over you?

“I don’t want you to come around here, Ransom,” she said carefully.

They stood glaring at each other, neither backing down.

“My Great Nana lives here,” Ransom said tightly.

“I knew you’d used that as an excuse,” Marta replied.

A flash of hurt crossed his features, so fast you almost missed it. Everyone always thought the worst of him.

“You’re not going to stop me from seeing your sister either,” he said meaningfully.

“You will not have access to come and go from this house whenever you want to, Ransom,” she shot back. “Not after everything that’s happened. This is our home now. You need to respect our wishes.”

Ransom scoffed. “What? You want me to make an appointment?”

Marta didn’t correct him.

“Oh, fuck no.” Ransom’s color was high. “You’ll see me when you see me.”

When he looked to you, so did she.

“My sister is part of our family. We all respect each other. She’ll respect our wishes,” Marta went on.

“She doesn’t _have_ to live here,” Ransom countered. “She’s got other options.”

_Oh, shit._ What was he trying to do?

“What?” Marta’s voice rose. “I don’t know what kind of… influence you have over my sister, but so help me if you try—”

“Marta.” Your mother was standing, her voice loud enough to cut Marta off. “What happens between them is between _them_.”

Marta looked at your mother with surprise and anger. “We’re just going to let him do what he wants? After what he did to her?”

“We don’t know what happened,” your mother reminded her.

Ransom glanced your way. Now he knew for certain you hadn’t said anything to your family about your time with him, good or bad.

Marta shook her head as she returned her glare to him. “I didn’t care about the money, Ransom. You had my sister. There’s no amount of money in the world worth more than her.”

Tears stung the backs of your eyes at your sister’s heartfelt words. Ransom’s gaze never moved from you and he nodded.

“Harlan didn’t want you to have the money for a reason,” her voice was softer. “He wanted you to learn to make it on your own… I’m really glad he didn’t live to see what you resorted to. He would have been so disappointed.”

Her words hit their mark. You watched his expression solidify into the mask he wore. The tension in his body spoke volumes.

“Harlan Thrombey was a great a man and he was my friend,” Marta went on. “He loved his family even though he saw things that could be better. And he believed that those things were partially his own fault. He was proud of all of you… I never understood it. Harlan understood love. I’m not sure any of you ever did. You don’t even love each other.”

Her tone, her expression, blended sarcasm with something deeper.

“But I’ll tell you something Ransom, if you have any intentions where my sister is concerned,” she went on, “just know _you_ will never be good enough for _her_.”

You could practically hear his teeth grinding as he marched over to the sofa, grabbed his coat, and pulled it on angrily.

“Tell Great Nana I’ll see her soon,” he said tightly to you. And with a nod to your mother, he stormed out the front door.

Marta scrubbed a hand through her hair, heading for the kitchen, while your mother eyed you curiously.

Your heart ached in your chest. You didn’t even think about it. You tossed your clutch over onto the couch and just let your heart pull you out the door. He’d almost reached the beamer when he saw you running out, heading in his direction. He stopped at the driver’s door, his hand on the roof and the sun winking off the ring he wore.

Ransom blew out an exhale when you walked around the car to him. His expression was one of pure frustration.

When you wrapped your arms around his waist inside his coat and pressed yourself against him, you didn’t know how he’d react. Ransom slowly relaxed, his arms wrapping around you.

“Are you okay?” you asked against his chest.

“I’m always okay, Pumpkin,” he told you bitterly.

“I’m sorry.” You held him tighter. This was all _your_ fault.

“Hey.” Ransom eased you back, tipped your chin so you were looking at him. “This isn’t your fault. And don’t let your sister give you shit for it, okay?”

Marta would but not in a mean way. You nodded.

But fear gripped you. As fate would have it, Ransom had been there to save you at the dive bar. He’d taken care of you last night and had just faced down Marta on your behalf. That would probably be enough to run him off.

“I’ll tell Great Nana you’ll be by to see her,” you said looking into his eyes. “You’ll be back to see her, right?”

Some of the tension eased from his face.

“You think she’s the only reason I’ll be around?” So much emotion swirled in those blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

When he lowered his head to claim your mouth, the kiss had your heart pounding. You clung to him as he deepened the kiss, stirred desires that haunted you deep into the night. It kept you from sleeping often. He held you tightly to him, taking all the time in the world to kiss you breathless.

You were panting when he eased away.

“Might want to set a pin on that new phone, Pumpkin,” he told you with a smirk as he kissed your forehead. “Get back inside. It’s cold.”

You never saw your mother watching out the window this time.

You watched as he got into the beamer and drove away, leaving you to go back into the mansion that was now your home. To face Marta again, this time without him.

But Marta had retreated to her room and your mother just made sure you were okay. You talked for a few minutes before grabbing your things and heading up to your room. You remembered getting into your sleep shirt and climbing into bed, trying to push out the worries that played on loop in your mind.

Ransom had just swept back into your life. And deep in your heart, seeing him again made you happy. Even if he was bad for you. Even if you shouldn’t feel that way.

Marta had her suspicions about what happened between the two of you. She probably wasn’t wrong about much. But she also didn’t know him the way you did. He was different with you.

Underneath what he showed the world, was a man with potential. To be whatever he wanted.

To be _good_.

When you were his captive, you realized that he kept you to get his portion of the inheritance. He got that. Why was he still around? How long would it take before Marta pushed him too far and he left?

How long would it take until the novelty of you wore off?

Someone like you couldn’t hold the interest of Ransom Drysdale and you knew it.

You realized that even though you were physically free, back with your family whose situation had greatly improved, you were still very much Ransom’s hostage.

And he’d continue to tear your life apart until he decided to let you go. You just hoped that when Ransom wielded his knife and cut that tie, he cut your heart out while he was at it. It was, after all, his.

You drifted off into an uneasy sleep.


End file.
